Stone and a Hard Place (13 page)

Kolinsky smiled a snakelike smile. “That, and your curiosity is eating you alive. You want desperately to know what this thing is, what it can do, and how to get rid of it.”

Stone had long ago accepted that putting one over on Stefan Kolinsky was only somewhat easier than pushing liquid uphill. “Well—yes, if you want the truth of it. I like Adelaide, and I don’t want to see anything happen to her. But this is big, Stefan. Whatever it is, it’s powerful and it’s growing. And I want to find it.”

He nodded as if that had been obvious. “I will see what I can do, then. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to give you the results of my research until at least Monday. I was preparing to close the shop when you came in—I have out of town business that will take me away from the area for most of the weekend.”

Stone studied him silently. “Stefan—”

“No, no, Alastair. It’s true. You don’t fully trust me, and I understand. But you should know me well enough to know that I have no interest in searching out your little problem ahead of you, fascinating though it might be. I am content to discover the information in my own ways, and share what I find with you. For the standard arrangement, of course.” He cocked an eyebrow at Stone.

Stone nodded. There was no way around it, and he knew Kolinsky was right. That was a good portion of the reason why he valued his relationship with the black mage as much as he did: Kolinsky was like a spider, sitting back and watching what went on at all the far-flung reaches of his web. But Stone had never known him to do anything with the knowledge, unless it affected him directly. He seemed, as far as Stone could tell, content to merely collect information and hoard it like a dragon sitting on a pile of gold. And he could be persuaded to part with bits of it for a price. “Standard arrangement, then.”

Kolinsky’s smile widened. “Excellent. Contact me on Monday and I’ll tell you what I’ve found out. This one will be intriguing, I think—it will require me to dig up some reference material that I haven’t looked at in a very long time.” He stood, politely indicating that the meeting was over. “It’s good to see you, Alastair. I hope you’re feeling better soon, and I hope I’ll be able to find something to interest you.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ethan jerked awake to the sound of someone rapping on his car window. He jumped, nearly hitting his head on the roof, and his eyes widened when he saw the helmeted, sunglassed head of a motorcycle cop peering in at him. He rolled the window down, hoping he didn’t look as bleary as he felt. “Uh—good morning, officer.”

The officer nodded, his expression stern. Ethan could see his own haggard face reflected in his mirrorshades. “What are you doing here, kid?”

“I—uh—” For a moment he didn’t remember. He’d been in San Francisco with Trina and the others. How had he gotten back here? But then a vague memory resurfaced of jostling along in the back seat of their black SUV. They must have brought him back to his car. “I—was at the club last night, and I stayed pretty late. Realized I was too tired to drive home, so I figured I’d sleep it off to be safe.”

“Are you drunk, son?”

“No, sir.” He hoped he wasn’t, anyway. The clock on the dashboard said 8:07—that should have been enough time for it to get out of his system. He hoped.

The cop made him get out of the car, dig out his ID and registration, and take a breathalyzer test. “Okay,” he said at last, grudgingly after he’d taken down all the information. “You can go. I don’t believe you that you weren’t drinking, but I can’t prove it, so you’re on your way. Just don’t let me catch you again, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ethan got out of there fast (well, as fast as he dared) as soon as the cop rode off. He pulled into the parking lot of a fast-food joint and checked to make sure he still had his cash, then went inside for a big cup of coffee and an unhealthy breakfast.

As the coffee seeped into him and brought him back to some semblance of coherence, he looked out the window and let his mind drift over the events of the previous night. His emotions were in turmoil: he was still terrified that Stone would somehow find out what he’d been up to and kick him out on the street, but he also felt energized at the taste of what it felt like to do real magic. He wasn’t sure why Trina and the others had been interested in the old house in Los Gatos, but it didn’t matter to him if they knew. That was Stone’s thing, not his.

Something in the back of his mind, maybe his conscience, was appalled at the way his attitude was developing. Stone had never been anything but fair to him. Sure, he was a taskmaster and a little hard to get close to, but that wasn’t anything personal. As far as Ethan was concerned Stone was doing a great (if somewhat slow) job of teaching him magic, and he had no doubt that if he kept up his own end of the bargain, he’d come out of this as a damned good mage.

But Trina and her friends—they were different. Walter Yarborough had told him that Alastair Stone was one of the most powerful mages he knew, but Ethan had a hard time believing it. Thus far, he hadn’t shown Ethan that he was capable of much more than levitating a few small things around the room, going invisible, and turning lights on and off. And he was so—what was the word—
blasé
about it! He just acted like a normal kind of guy his age who was a little eccentric. Trina, Oliver, and Miguel, on the other hand, practically
exuded
power. He hadn’t missed how they strode around the club like they considered everyone else in it their inferiors, or their subjects. People respected them, looked up to them, cared about their opinions. They didn’t spend their time hanging out in an old house with dusty books and a musty old basement—they got out there in the world and made things
happen.

That, and he couldn’t get it out of his head the way Trina had looked at him several times last night. He didn’t think she’d seen him looking, but she was watching him like—well, like she wanted him.

Geeky, skinny him.

He slugged down some more coffee, ashamed of himself. This was crazy, and he knew it. He’d agreed to be Stone’s apprentice, to follow his rules about magic. And he’d already broken his promise because he’d been dazzled by three flashy young mages who seemed to want him to be part of their group. The best thing he could do right now was to drive up to Stone’s place, admit to what he’d done, and ask forgiveness.

Naturally, he had no intention of doing that. Mr. Yarborough had said that Stone didn’t have any patience for that kind of thing. What if he admitted what he did and Stone
still
told him to get lost?

No, he’d just have to be good from now on, that was all. He’d call Stone back on Monday, tell him he was ready to get back to his lessons, and put this behind him. No more magic with Trina and the others.

But, he thought as he finished the coffee and prepared to leave, there was no harm in just
seeing
them, right? Maybe just talking with Trina, if she wanted to get together again?

He hoped she wanted to get together again. Even though he was sure he was wrong about how she’d looked at him—it was always possible he’d been right, and more than talking would be involved.

The Three met at their San Francisco ritual space on Saturday evening around five o’clock. From the look of them, they hadn’t dragged themselves out of bed much earlier than that. “So, what’s the plan?” Oliver asked, lounging in an old chair and popping a beer. “I take it you got enough from the twerp to tell you where we need to go?”

“Fuck, that kid’s annoying,” Miguel complained. Affecting a childish voice, he singsonged, “
Oh, should I take a chance? Should I be doing this? What will Stone think? I need a new diaper!
” He dropped a leg over the arm of another chair and slouched into it sideways. “We better get this done quick—I don’t think I can stand being around him much longer without smacking him in the head.”

Trin chuckled appreciatively. “Come on, he’s not
that
bad. We need to take this slow. I think we got him drunk enough that he won’t remember exactly what he told us, which is good. But if we’re going to do what we need to do, we might need to go down there a couple of times. I want to know more about what we’re up against before we do it for real. We’ll only get one chance.”

“What about Stone?” Oliver asked. “He gonna be a problem?”

She shook her head. “Shouldn’t be. I heard back from my guys, and they worked him over pretty good Thursday night—put him in the hospital, they said. Remember how the kid said he sounded sick on the phone? Even if he’s home, with any luck he’ll be curled up with his blanket and slippers and out of our hair for the weekend.”

“Okay, so where are we going? And when?” Miguel asked.

“Tonight. The house is in Los Gatos, up in the hills. The kid said there’s just a couple of old ladies who live there, and some gardeners and stuff that might be around.”

“We gonna have to go in?” Oliver took another swig of his beer.

“Not yet. Tonight’s just recon. We can set up a circle outside on the grounds and try to get in touch with it from there.” She smiled an unwholesome smile. “You guys were there when it contacted us. It wants to use us. But we’ve got other plans.”

Miguel matched her smile. “I don’t much like being used. Unless he’s gorgeous and has a big—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver interrupted. “We’re not gonna fuck the thing, Mig. I don’t care how hot it is.”

“Well, maybe we are, metaphorically,” Trin said, her eyes sparkling in the same way that was so successful at curdling Ethan’s hormones. “That’s why we need to be careful. It’s powerful, but I think if we do it right, the relationship’s going to end up a little different than it expects.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Stone had finally gotten comfortable. It was late—had to be well after midnight—and the combination of a recent pain pill, a soft, comfortable bed, and Megan’s warm presence lying next to him were coming together quite nicely to drive off all his stray thoughts about pain and Ethan and Stefan Kolinsky and why anyone would want to attack him in a parking lot. He lay on his back, Megan’s arm draped over his chest and her head snuggled into the crook of his arm, dozing. Things were good.

He’d gotten home around five o’clock to find her message on his machine wondering where he’d gone. After calling her back and assuring her that he was quite capable of driving, he felt better, and he’d just had some errands to run, he’d smoothed over the last of her concern by proposing that she choose what she wanted to do with the evening, and he’d go along with it.

She had shown up two hours later with a couple of bags of groceries, a bottle of good wine, and her usual teasing remarks about his appalling lack of cooking skills and the fact that he never had anything decent to eat in his townhouse unless it was one of Mrs. Olivera’s nights to cook. “I’m going to make you dinner,” she said. “And you’re just going to sit back, relax, and stop stressing your body out instead of acting like you’re eighteen and can heal overnight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he’d said meekly. “You know, I could get to like this whole ‘being waited on’ thing.”

“Well, don’t get too attached to it. You still owe me dinner from Thursday night, remember.”

She’d whipped up a quick but tasty pasta dish and they’d taken their time over it, sipping wine and chatting about completely mundane subjects for the next couple of hours. He’d insisted on taking care of the dishes, after which they’d retired to the dimly lit living room for some soft music and no television.

“See?” she’d said, leaned back comfortably against him. “This is nice. No essays to read, no students, no skulls or little old ladies or parking-lot thugs.”

“Mmm,” he’d agreed. “Quite nice. You’re turning me domestic, my dear.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. Next stop: white picket fence and 2.5 adorable children. And a Labrador retriever.”

“How about one adorable child and 2.5 Labrador retrievers? Or better yet: just the picket fence?”

One thing had led to another and they’d ended up in the bedroom, and despite the fact that they’d had to be more careful than usual because of his injuries, they’d managed to have an enjoyable evening. Stone had dropped off to sleep contented, for the first time in days not feeling like something was hanging over his head. He slipped in and out of deep restful sleep, his racing mind finally slowing down while Megan slumbered on next to him.

The phone rang.

“Bloody hell!” he whispered, jerking fully awake and wincing as his injured ribs protested. Megan stirred as he quickly rolled over and tried to snatch it up before it rang again. According to the clock on the nightstand, it was 1:32 a.m. “Walter, if this is you again—” he muttered into the phone.

“Dr. Stone?”

The voice was trembling, female, and sounded terrified. It took him a moment to identify it. He stared as Megan stirred again, draping her arm back over him. “Mrs.—Bonham?”

Whoever was on the other end sounded like they were on the verge of hysteria. “Dr. Stone, is that you?”

“It’s me, Mrs. Bonham. What’s wrong? Is something wrong?” He sat up a little, propping himself up on his pillows. Megan’s arm slid down over his stomach, but he didn’t even notice that she was there.

“Something’s here,” she quavered. “Something’s…happening.”

He was fully awake now. Carefully, he moved Megan’s arm and sat on the edge of the bed. “Calm down, Mrs. Bonham, please. I’ll help you if I can, but you have to tell me what’s happening.”

“I don’t
know
,” she sobbed. “It’s like the whole house hates me. Noises—cold winds—things slamming—”

“Is Iona there? Can you put her on for a moment?”

There was a shuffling sound and then a different voice spoke, sounding almost as frightened as Adelaide Bonham had. “Dr. Stone? This is Iona.”

He took a deep breath. “Iona. What’s going on? Is Mrs. Bonham—”

“She’s not imagining things,” the woman said. In addition to sounding frightened, she sounded like she couldn’t believe what was going on. “I can hear them too. The noises. The feelings. It’s horrible, Dr. Stone. Something’s going on.”

Another deep breath. “All right. All right. Er—listen to me. Ask Mrs. Bonham—if there’s a place in the house where she feels particularly safe or comfortable, go there. Lock yourselves in if you can, and wait. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Shuffling sound, and Adelaide was back on. “Should I call Tommy too?”

“No. No, just do as I said. Go to where you feel safest and wait. I’ll get there as fast as I can.” He was already getting up, painfully pulling on his clothes as he held the cordless receiver between his head and shoulder. He broke the connection and dropped the receiver on the bed.

“Alastair?” Megan’s voice sounded muzzy from sleep. “What’s going on—? Was that the phone?”

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured, shrugging a sweater on over his T-shirt. “I have to go out for a bit. I’ll be back soon.” He sat down on the bed and hurriedly began pulling on socks and shoes.

“You have to go out?” She was more awake now. “Wait a minute. What time is it?”

“It’s late. Shh. Go back to sleep. I’ll be back before you know it.”
I hope.

“Where are you going?” She rolled over on her back, staring at him. “You can’t go out now. It’s the middle of the night!”

He didn’t have time for this. Leaning over, he kissed her warm forehead. “I’m sorry, Megan, but I have to go. Go back to sleep, and I’ll be here when you wake up in the morning.” Before she could protest he hurried out the door. He heard her calling to him as he reached the top of the stairs, but he didn’t pause.

Breathing hard, acutely aware of how long it would take him to drive from Palo Alto to Los Gatos even at this hour when there would be next to no traffic, he forced himself to pause when he reached the ground floor. He took a quick inventory and hurried downstairs to his basement sanctum, donning the ring and amulet and stuffing all of the crystals in his pocket. He’d need all the power he could get if something big was happening down there, and after the last couple of days, his personal power level wasn’t at its highest. Next he found a bag on a shelf and began tossing various candles, jars of sand, incense sticks and other ritual materials into it. He had no idea if he’d need them or even have a chance to use them, but better safe than sorry.

Back upstairs his gaze fell on the bottle of pain pills by the sink. He snatched it up and stuck it in his pocket, but didn’t take one now. He couldn’t afford to dull his senses; he’d just have to deal with the pain unless it got so bad it was causing its own problems.

He grabbed his black overcoat and threw it on, then hurried out through the garage door. A couple of minutes later he was on the road heading toward 280, his mind thrumming with possibilities about what could be going on. He wished he’d thought of consulting Stefan Kolinsky earlier—if the man could have come up with anything, he might have a better idea what he was dealing with. He hated going in blind.

It was about twenty-five miles from Palo Alto to Los Gatos, not counting the smaller roads that went up into the hills. He opened up the car on the freeway as much as he dared—getting pulled over now would slow him down more than if he just drove the speed limit. All the while his brain continued to spin horrific scenarios of some potent, malevolent force having its way with the two helpless women trapped inside the house.

Why had it chosen to make its move tonight? There was nothing mystically significant about the time period—it was merely a cold, slightly foggy night in early December, no different from any other. He couldn’t imagine how Adelaide or Iona could have done anything to provoke it—the only thing he figured was that perhaps he’d been right that it had been gaining power on its own and had finally hit the tipping point when it could affect the material world in a more direct way.

That was bad news, especially since he had no idea what it was, and thus no idea how to fight it.

Bugger Tommy and his mundanity, anyway! If he hadn’t been so insistent that Aunt Adelaide not be frightened by what he believed to be bogus concerns, Stone could have done more tests, and maybe taken more of the thing’s measure before it became too dangerous.

Ah, well. No point in focusing on that now. He just hoped he’d be able to keep his promise to Megan and be back by the time she woke up the next morning.

Or that he’d at least be alive by the next morning.

It was close to two-thirty when he slewed the Jaguar right onto the turnoff leading up to the house. He couldn’t see anything in the distance: no pyrotechnic lightshows or anything as blatant as that. This wasn’t necessarily comforting, though: a lot of magical entities were quite a bit more subtle. He pulled the car over for a moment and stopped, leaning over the steering wheel and closing his eyes, willing up his mental defenses to their maximum. It would take a bit of his energy to sustain them, but if this was one of the more subtle variety of mystical baddies, he’d be grateful he’d taken the effort later.

Continuing up the road he reached the gate. It was closed.
Damn. Forgot to tell them to open it before they hid.
He jumped out of the car, leaving it running, and tried to open it.

It was locked up tight. Of course it was. A cold, biting wind sliced through his coat.

With a sigh he went back to the car, pulled it off to the side, and gathered up his gear from inside. He hadn’t wanted to waste magical energy yet, but he was going to have to get over that gate and there was no way he was going to climb it. He didn’t know how long the fence around the place extended, and he didn’t have time to find out.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, focused his will, and levitated himself up and over, dropping down neatly on the other side. That spell came easily for him, fortunately, so he was barely breathing hard when he touched down. Ahead, he could see the bulk of the house rising up like a dark presence all its own, lit only by its perimeter lights. No cheery inside lamps now. He wondered where Adelaide and Iona had chosen to hide, and hoped they’d chosen wisely.

He kept to the side of the road as he moved up toward the house, reaching out with his magical senses to see if he could get any more information about the entity before he had to go inside. Immediately he picked something up—it was all around him. The thing was agitated. But the strange thing was, it didn’t seem any more potent or powerful than it had the first time Stone had touched it back when he and Tommy had made their first visit.

Odd
, he thought.
Almost like something’s disturbing it.

There was also something else—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A trace of a different sort of magic in the air. Less powerful, more focused.

More familiar.

Was there another mage here?

No, that was absurd. What would another mage be doing out here in the middle of nowhere on a night like this? He checked again, and the odd trace was gone. He pulled up the collar of his overcoat against the wind and resumed his trudge toward the house. When he got there, he pounded on the door. “Mrs. Bonham!” he yelled, wondering if she’d even hear him from inside the vast house. “Iona! It’s Alastair Stone! Open the door!” His voice was nearly carried off by the rushing wind.

Nothing happened. He stood there, hands in his pockets, teeth gritted, glancing constantly around him as if expecting something to sneak up on him, for nearly five minutes. He was beginning to wonder if he’d have to try getting in through one of the windows when the door opened. A wide-eyed Iona was on the other side, dressed in robe and slippers, her dark hair in disarray. “Oh! Dr. Stone. Thank God you’re here! Come in, come in!” She grabbed his arm and tugged him inside, then slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. She was breathing like she’d just run two circuits around the grounds.

Stone’s gaze took in the entry chamber. Nothing looked out of the ordinary here. “Iona. Are you all right? Where’s Mrs. Bonham?”

“Come with me.” She led him out of the room and down a long hall to what looked like a smallish office. Unlike the rest of the house which showed strong leanings toward Adelaide Bonham’s old-lady decorating tastes, this one had a distinct masculine feel, with paneled walls, shelves lined with old books, and even a couple stuffed deer heads. The furniture was heavy wood and leather, overstuffed and comfortable in a functional way, and another door led to a tiny bathroom at the far end. The room had no windows, and only a single exit door. Iona waved Stone through it, and then closed it after a quick peek outside to make sure nothing was following them.

Adelaide was perched on one end of a brown couch, clutching a handkerchief and trembling in her quilted pale-blue dressing gown and slippers. She looked up as he entered and tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Dr. Stone. I’m so sorry to drag you out of your bed at such an hour—and what happened to your face?”

He crouched in front of her, taking her hand reassuringly. “Think nothing of it, Mrs. Bonham. I’m fine. Now, tell me—what’s gotten you so frightened?”

She didn’t have to tell him, though. As she drew breath to answer the house made a sudden loud creaking sound, low and rumbling and sustained from somewhere deep in its bowels. This was followed by the sharp slams of several doors opening and closing and then a low, agonized moan. Adelaide and Iona made little screams and clutched at each other, trembling.

“Oh, dear God,” Iona whispered. “What is it?
What is it?”

Stone was not trembling. The initial creak had startled him, but when it continued to draw out he pulled himself to his full height, shifting his perceptions over to get a better look. He stood there, jaw set and grim thousand-yard stare fixed somewhere out beyond the confines of the house, for almost a minute after the moan died out.

The two women looked at him, for a moment appearing almost as frightened of him as they were of what the house was doing. “Dr...Stone?” Adelaide ventured at last.

He shook his head quickly as if clearing it, and his gaze switched back to the here and now. “Sorry,” he said. He let his breath out and sat down in a nearby chair. His mind was still far away, but he forced himself to focus on the two ladies. “Just—trying to figure out where that was coming from.”

“What was it?” Iona asked, voice shaking.

Stone took a deep breath. Here was when things were going to get interesting. “I don’t know what it is yet. I’ll need to do more tests to find out. But whatever it is, it’s somewhere inside the house.”

Iona and Adelaide exchanged terrified looks. “In the
house?
” Adelaide echoed. She looked around like she expected to see something come crashing through the closed doors.