Stone and a Hard Place (30 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

On the shattered table, lying under the dead weight of Oliver’s body, Ethan regained consciousness. His whole body was in pain—he was pretty sure at least a couple bones were broken, and he’d lost a lot of blood. Struggling free of the bonds that no longer held him, he rolled Oliver’s body off, trying not to scream with the effort. He looked around, coughing, struggling for breath.
Why is it so hot and smoky in here?

Then he saw and heard the blazing fire, and it all came back to him.

Trin.

Trin had betrayed him. She’d intended to betray him all along.

And he’d fallen for it, because she’d smiled at him. Because she’d made him feel like he was worthwhile. Because he’d wanted so badly to believe it that he’d ignored everything else.

He looked around. The crack in the armoire’s doors was nearly two feet wide now, the swirling mists almost reaching the edge of the circle. He had to do something.

But what?

He continued looking, and his gaze fell on the still form of Stone, lying broken and bleeding against the wall. Was he dead? Ethan couldn’t tell. Painfully, he crawled toward him. Even if he was alive, though, what could he do now? He couldn’t do a sacrifice, and he didn’t have the spirit’s name. There was no way he could—

And then he saw his parka, lying there on the floor close to Stone. And he remembered.

He hadn’t given Trin all the books he’d brought. He’d forgotten he’d even put one in his coat, with all he’d been through in the last couple of days. The news about his mother had driven nearly everything out of his mind. But now, he remembered.

The diary.

Selena Darklight’s diary.

If it was anywhere, it would be there.

He had to hurry.

He continued crawling toward the parka and Stone, aware of the spreading flames behind him and the ever-widening crack in the armoire door.

The evacuation was proceeding a little more effectively now that the house’s smoke detectors had at last registered the fire and gone off. Megan joined the security guards in hustling the elderly guests outside, herding them out to the porch, where the more able-bodied among them helped the others into the yard. In the distance, she could hear the sirens of fire trucks approaching, but she knew it would take them a while to make it all the way up here.

Grimly, she realized she still hadn’t seen Stone. Now she was beginning to worry in earnest: if he were here, he would be in the thick of the action, doing whatever he could to help out. The fact that she couldn’t hear his distinctive British tones cutting through the panic, giving orders and hustling recalcitrant oldsters out the door, told her everything she needed to know.

He wasn’t here.

But where
was
he?

Ethan had the book. Clutching it in his trembling hand, fighting to stay awake, he dragged himself over to Stone and rolled him over on his back. The mage was unconscious, the white front of his tuxedo shirt shredded and soaked in blood. Ethan shook him. “Dr. Stone! Wake up! Please don’t be dead!”

Stone moaned.

Ethan shook him again, harder. “Dr. Stone! Please, wake up!” Sweat ran down his face; the smoke was everywhere, darkness settling over his head like a warm, heavy animal. “Please! You have to wake up!”

Stone’s eyes flickered open. He seemed to be having trouble focusing for a moment, then he saw Ethan. “E...Ethan...”

Tears streamed down Ethan’s face. “Oh, God, Dr. Stone. I’m so sorry. I’ve been such an idiot, and now we’re—”

“What—?” Stone tried to rise, but couldn’t manage it.

Ethan held up the book. “Dr. Stone—this is Selena Darklight’s diary. I found it the other day, in the attic. I was gonna give it to Trin, but I forgot I had it. You gotta take it, Dr. Stone. You gotta stop this thing. Look!” He pointed with great effort toward the armoire. “It’s gonna get out...It’s gonna—get—” His energy spent, he trailed off, slumping over.

Stone fought to make sense of what Ethan was saying. He forced himself to an elbow, focusing on what he had to do. He saw the thing in the armoire and stiffened.

He could suffer through his pain later. He could even die later. Later didn’t matter. All that mattered was right now—and right now, he had to do this. He picked up the diary in a shaking hand and used a small spell to break its lock. Painfully, he began paging through it.

The crack in the armoire grew wider.

“…Give up, little worm. You will not stop me now. You have lost. You will die, and so will everyone you ever cared about…”

“Bugger off,” Stone muttered, continuing to turn the pages.

The first of the fire trucks were arriving now. Small groups of shivering guests huddled together in the front yard, their eyes full of fear.

Megan was still inside. She was moving from person to person as they left the house, asking them if they’d seen anyone matching Stone’s description, or Ethan’s, or Langley’s. Sometimes she got an affirmative, but it was a vague one: “Oh, yes, I think I saw him earlier tonight,” or “Yes, he was in the ballroom when I got here.” But nothing definitive. It was as if all three of them had vanished from the face of the earth.

She wondered if she should head upstairs and search for them.

Stone kept having to blink blood and sweat from his eyes as he struggled to read the blurry, cramped print in the diary. This was taking too long! Already the flames were growing so high that he wasn’t sure he and Ethan could even get out safely anymore. If he didn’t do something soon, none of this would matter. In frustration, he growled and gave the book a hard shake.

A piece of paper, possibly used as a bookmark, poked out from between two pages about three quarters of the way in. Breathing hard, Stone opened the book to the indicated page and shoved the bookmark aside.

On the page, written in thicker, embellished text, was a single word, surrounded by diagrams of magical circles. Even looking at the word made Stone uncomfortable.

The thing in the armoire made a low, rumbling warning sound, as if anticipating his next move.

“Yes...” Stone whispered in triumph. Gathering his will, he grabbed the edge of a nearby table and pulled himself up. He staggered to the center of the circle, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He opened the book and faced the armoire, and he began an incantation.

“…No...”
whispered the thing in his head. “…
You will
not
…”

The swirling mists, which had now reached the circle, solidified into tentacles with clawed appendages, raking at him. He held his ground, bellowing the incantation as loudly and forcefully as he could manage.

The creatures slashed at him, moving in. He reeled backward, fighting to hold his balance, barely remaining inside the circle as more and more forms boiled out of the armoire’s opening. The horrific sloth-creatures came through, along with the sticky, searching tentacles from his bedroom. But there were more things too: things that he could barely look at, things that made his sanity recoil and begin to crack. His voice faltered, the incantation dying on his lips.

“…You will fail, small one
…” the thing in his head said. “…
You have no hope. You cannot stem my power. You are too weak. I was old when your world was new. I will destroy you and everything you ever cared about
…”

The creatures were drawing closer now, moving around the circle, testing its boundaries. Stone was forced to divert energy to strengthen the wards around it, but knew he couldn’t do that for long—his limited power had to go toward taking his best shot at sending the thing back before he simply collapsed, his formidable will no longer able to sustain his failing body. Already the grayness was closing around him, his legs beginning to buckle.

One of the creatures, a new one with wicked claws on the end of multiple whiplike tentacles, breached his shield and slashed at him, opening up a deep gash across his chest. He cried out, raising his hands to ward off the blows, clutching Selena Darklight’s diary with all his will. If he dropped it now, he knew everything would be lost.

Faster than he could see, another tentacle lashed out and sliced through his hand with surgical precision. The diary, his severed fingers still attached to it, fluttered to the floor, landing in a puddle of blood. Stone screamed, dropping to his knees. Jamming his wounded hand under his opposite arm to try to stanch the bleeding, he lunged for the book with his good hand.

The creatures were getting through now. He couldn’t hold the shield around the circle anymore. Had he broken it somehow? Smudged it when he’d fallen, or when he’d dropped the diary? It shouldn’t work that way—either the shield was up, or it was down. He blinked blood from his eyes again, his gaze cutting madly around to locate the source of the breach as he scrambled for the diary.

“…You will die, little mage…”
the thing’s implacable voice spoke in his head.
“
…
You will die screaming in agony, and your power will feed my birth into this world…”

“No!” Stone shouted. His eyes were nearly clamped shut now, sweat pouring from him, his hand fumbling for the diary. The heat from the fire seared him.