by R. L. King
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked. “They probably figure they’d be doin’ us a favor by turfin’ the Devil out o’ us.”
“Or at least doing the world a favor by keeping us safely imprisoned,” Stone said. “I strongly doubt this thing could literally remove a mage’s powers.” He thought of Aldwyn when he said this, although his ancestor might be a special case because he was a dragon. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if, properly deployed, it could create a prison that most, if not all, mages couldn’t breach.”
“So how did they find out about the pyramid?” Jason asked. “How did they know it was there in the first place?”
“Probably the way we were speculating about before,” Stone said. “If the organization is older and more far-reaching than we thought they were, it’s possible they do have long-standing arrangements with people to watch upcoming auction lots and keep their eyes out for any other odd items resurfacing. It’s also possible they’ve found other things in the past, but we didn’t know about it so it never rose high enough to attract any mages’ attention.”
All of them sat silently, mulling over what they’d just heard. Finally, Amber spoke up. “But there’s still part of this that doesn’t make sense to me, though. Sorry if I’m being dense, but this isn’t exactly the kind of thing I normally deal with. All this twisted intrigue isn’t exactly what we bears excel at.”
“Quite all right,” Stone said. “What doesn’t make sense?”
“Well…assume you’re right and this thief was a member of this organization. You’re right, that part does make sense, especially with the tattoo, though he might just be a guy who was working on his own who just happens to be religious.”
“It’s possible.”
“But anyway, if it is true…who killed him?”
The others looked at each other.
“Maybe some other Portas member did,” Jason suggested. “He was a mage, after all, and if they did send him after the pyramid, he didn’t succeed in his mission. Maybe they killed him to get the cops off their tail. You know, made him a scapegoat. If the cops think they have the guy who committed the theft, they’ll stop looking, right?”
“Not sure,” Stone said. “Blum said they’ll probably put the case on the back burner, but there are still too many questions for them to stop completely.”
“Better than nothing,” Verity said. “But what about Brandon Greene? You said the guy almost killed him, and Greene’s a mundane. If the thief is part of Portas, would he have done that?”
“Good question.” Stone pulled out his chair and sat, though he wondered how long he could remain still. “The working theory is that the thief was already inside the storeroom when Greene arrived and surprised him. Maybe he panicked. Even if our thief was some high-powered practitioner, people do panic—even mages.”
“Maybe that’s why they killed him,” Jason said. “Because he almost murdered Greene. Sort of a kill two birds with one stone thing—they get the cops off their back, and they take out a potentially dangerous mage who might get spooked and off somebody else.”
“If that’s the case,” Stone said, “they must have at least one other mage working with them.”
“Why do you say that?” Verity asked. “It doesn’t take a mage to run somebody down with a truck.”
“No, but it might take one to get back inside that storeroom and nick the African statuette. Remember, at that point the room was under much heavier guard. If someone got in there and took something later on, they were either a mage or connected with the security company. And nobody’s reporting any camera glitches or anything, which leads me to believe it’s got to be a mage.”
He glanced at Ward, who was suddenly looking pensive. “Something on your mind, Ward? You don’t agree?”
“I’m…not certain. It’s possible you’re right—but it’s also possible something else is going on here.”
“What’s that?” Jason asked.
“It could be that Portas aren’t the only people looking for the pyramid.”
“That’s a good point,” Stone admitted. “Any number of people or groups could be looking for it. Though I think it might be stretching credibility a bit to think a relatively obscure and low-value auction would draw multiple players out of the woodwork.”
“Dangerous to assume it didn’t, though,” Eddie said.
“True enough. But since we’ve got no idea who might be involved, our best course of action is probably to continue looking for the other component or components. Even if anyone suspects I’ve got the pyramid, there’s no way they’ll find it in Desmond’s vault. So that should give us some time.”
“What about the Ordo?” Verity asked. “This seems like it would be exactly the kind of thing they’d want—even if it’s just to keep it under wraps so nobody uses it against them.”
Stone nodded. “I thought about them, and you could be right. But after the whole business with Richter and Brathwaite, I think they might have more pressing matters on their plates.” He spread his hands. “There could be any number of organizations looking for this thing. I think we might be spinning our wheels trying to work out which of them are, so until we have more information, we’ll go forward with what we have for the time being. Oh—and Eddie: speaking of, you can stop hunting for McGrath’s catalog. Jason’s computer whiz located it.”
Eddie and Ward both perked up. “That right? Can we see it? Did you bring it with you?”
“Well…I don’t actually have it yet. It’s on display in some little nothing town in Nebraska. I was planning to pay them a visit, but this information from Blum sidetracked me a bit.”
“You’re gonna break in there and nick it?” Eddie asked. The thought didn’t seem to bother him.
“Borrow it. I don’t need the actual catalog—just photos of any relevant pages.”
“Can I come along?” Verity asked.
He almost said yes, because having some magical backup couldn’t hurt. But then he remembered why it wouldn’t be a good idea. If his sense of middle-American geography was accurate, the closest public portal to Nebraska was either Chicago, Santa Fe, or Dallas—none of which were terribly close. He was certain there were ley lines that would get him closer, but to use that method he couldn’t bring anyone else along. “Er…not this time, I’m afraid.”
“Why not?” Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not being protective, are you?”
“Of course not. You trained me away from doing that ages ago.”
“Well, why, then? It makes sense not to go alone. What if Portas or one of these other groups have figured out the same thing you did? It would be better to have some backup.”
Jason and Amber were shooting him odd looks now, too.
“I can handle Portas. But first of all, I doubt anyone else has got this far yet. And second, the odds they’d show up at exactly the same time I do are fairly low. That’s why I’ve got to move fast. I was thinking of going as soon as we’re done here. Verity, you’ll need to take Jason and Amber back through the portal.”
He didn’t meet her gaze, but he did catch the significant glances Eddie and Ward shot him. They got it, which apparently meant Eddie had shared Stone’s secret with his colleague.
Verity glared at him, but then sighed. “Okay, fine. I can’t go tonight anyway—got a job with Scuro. But I still think you should wait for me.”
“I can’t.” He added an apologetic note to his tone. “I’ll be fine, Verity, but we can’t wait on this. If Gina found the link to the catalog, one of these other groups might have as well.” And I can get there a lot faster than they can, he thought but didn’t say.
“Right, then,” Eddie said briskly, obviously trying to move the conversation along. “Is that it, Stone, or ’ave you got more bombshells to drop on us?”
“I think those are enough to be getting on with for now.”
“So, what do you want us to do in the meantime?” Jason rose from his chair.
“Not much we can do, is there? We’re kinda back at square one on who else is after the thing.”
“If anyone else is at all.” Stone stood too. “I’ll keep in touch with Blum in case they figure out our thief’s identity. Jason, you stay up to date with your law enforcement contacts. I don’t know if anyone will try breaking in to wherever they’re storing the collection in San Francisco, but if they do I want to know about it.”
“What about us?” Eddie asked. “Not much else for us to do until you’ve got more information.”
“Keep checking the library, I guess—and the reference material at Caventhorne. See if you can find any references to magic-damping devices.”
“Are you going to do any checking about your ancestor and that sealed room?” Verity asked. Jason had already filled her and Amber in on the latest news. “If they’re related to this thing, maybe there’s a connection.”
Stone shivered a little at that. Checking into Aldwyn’s history was one thing—but none of his friends knew the real deal was still alive. Would his ancestor be willing to talk to him about it? Would Stone even want to talk to him? The last thing he wanted was to incur any sort of perceived debt to his murderous forefather. “I’ll see what I can find,” was all he said. “There might be something in my library at the Surrey house.”
“It’s too bad we can’t get down there to that chamber,” Jason mused. “If the place hadn’t all collapsed, maybe you could look around magically and see if there was…I dunno…a hidden alcove or something with another one of those pyramid things in it. Maybe even the whole gizmo, if you think it has more than one part.”
“Yes, well, that’s a bit out of the question, I’m afraid. Someone’s bound to get suspicious if I start bringing in heavy machinery to dig up the property.” Stone pushed his chair in. “Anyway, thank you all for coming. Part of me is afraid the whole thing might turn out to be nothing but a wild-goose chase, but part of me hopes it is. I can’t say I’m comfortable with the idea of something like that being out in the world—and even less comfortable with it falling into Portas Justitiae’s hands.”
19
Time zones worked in Stone’s favor again. It had been early evening when he and the others had met in England, but only early afternoon when he returned to Encantada. After gathering a bit of gear including his disguise amulet, he consulted an online map and one of his ley-line atlases. Tilley, Nebraska, it turned out, was in the north-central part of the state. The nearest ley line that passed through a reasonably-sized town was ninety miles to the south.
That meant he’d need to rent a car, or take a cab. He thought again of what Jason and Amber had told him about concealing his identity. It was even more important now that he could travel to many more locations more quickly, but so far he hadn’t done anything else about it except pick up a small collection of burner phones. He’d still need to figure out how to set up a fake identity, complete with things like driver’s license and credit card, but there was no time to do that now. He’d have to take a chance that nobody looked too closely at his activities.
Sometimes he wished Jason had never brought up all these problematic considerations. He’d been popping around through the portals for years, and nobody had gotten too suspicious about it. But now that he’d been made aware of all the ways it could come back and bite him, he couldn’t continue on in blissful ignorance.
The trip was as quick and easy as always. Since he didn’t know where he’d be reappearing, he used an invisibility spell to conceal himself.
It was a good thing he had. He reappeared in the middle of a street, and barely had time to gather his wits and levitate himself before a pickup truck ran him over. Puffing, he spared only a moment to contemplate the irony of being run down by the same kind of vehicle that had taken out the thief back in California, then floated back down to the street and hurried into an alley where he could hide behind a dumpster before his spell fizzled. He leaned against the wall, panting, and looked around for anyone else.
One thing seemed to be going his way, though—he was alone. He let his breath out, forcing himself to relax. Now that he was here, nobody was going to be suspicious. Both his disguise amulet and his disregarding spell were working fine, making him look like a boring young man in a down jacket, jeans, and Chuck Taylors. He’d picked the right outfit, because it was cold here. It wasn’t snowing, but it looked like it might start any minute. His black wool overcoat was barely sufficient to keep him from shivering. He needed to find a ride to Tilley.
At least it appeared he was in the business district, which would make things easier. He’d decided to take a cab instead of trying to rent a car or take a rideshare, because cabs took cash. He had a stack of it in his pocket. He spotted a bright-green one and waved it down.
“Can you take me to Tilley?” he asked the driver, an older man in a Cornhuskers sweatshirt. He used his American accent.
“Tilley?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “That’s like a hundred miles away.”
“Ninety-four, actually. Yes. Can you take me?”
The driver looked him up and down. “That’s gonna cost around two hundred and fifty bucks, and take an hour and a half.”
“I know. I can pay.”
“You’re gonna have to prove it.”
Stone pulled cash from his pocket. “Listen—I need to get there fast. I can’t wait for the bus. Too slow. I’ll tip you well, I promise.”
“Well…” The man didn’t look convinced, but finally sighed. “Okay. Hop in.”
By the time they made it to Tilley, Stone had firmed his resolve to talk to someone—either Jason or possibly Kolinsky—about doing something to improve his fake identity.
The cabbie had been right—the drive took an hour and a half, and throughout the entire trip the man had alternated between playing bad country music and sports reports on the radio, and trying to engage Stone in conversation about his two favorite topics: Cornhuskers football and how he was convinced space-alien lizard people had taken over the top positions in world government. Stone didn’t even have a magazine to read, and since his real phone was shut off to prevent it from pinging his location, he couldn’t even use that to entertain himself. He had just about lost the last of his resolve not to tell the cabbie to shut up and drive when they reached their destination.
“Here we are. Tilley. You got an address?”
“No, this is fine. Thank you.” Let me out of this damned car before I go mad. They were driving through what looked like the town’s small downtown area, which should be as good a place as any to stop.
“That’ll be…two hundred and forty fifty-three.”
Bloody hell, it’s a good thing I’m rich. Stone peeled off four hundreds from his stash and handed them over. “Keep the change.”
“Hey, thanks, friend. You’re all right. You ever in Kearney and need another ride, give me a call.”
Not much chance of that.
He watched the cab trundle off and considered his next options. It was even colder here than it had been in Kearney, with a light dusting of snow beginning to fall. It was also only a few minutes after two p.m., which meant it would be a while before he could safely break in to the museum. He supposed it couldn’t hurt to do a little recon in the meantime.
After ducking into a nearby coffee shop for a hot cup, he took another cab to the museum’s address.
“This is it?” he asked dubiously. The place looked less like a museum and more like someone’s two-story home.
“That’s it.” The driver pointed at a small sign out front, barely legible from the cab. It read Tilley Museum and Historical Society.
Well. This could make things easier, or more difficult. He wasn’t sure which yet.
The bored-looking old woman at the table inside the door perked up as he arrived and put down her magazine. “Oh, hello, dear. Welcome to the Tilley Museum.” She studied him. “I don’t think I recognize you. Are you new in town? We don’t get many tourists up this way.”
> “I’m—just passing through. Killing some time. Someone told me about the place.”
She looked pleased. “Oh, that’s nice. The donation’s five dollars, and you can stay as long as you like. We have some lovely things here.”
Stone paid her and she handed him a folded paper. “There’s your map and a list of our exhibits. If you need anything, let me know. We’ve got a troop of Girl Scouts going through somewhere—I think they’re upstairs. Other than that, it’s just you.”
“Thank you.”
Stone almost felt guilty about what he was planning to do—almost like breaking in to the place would be an affront against this very nice old woman. “Ah—what time do you close?”
“At five. That should give you plenty of time to see everything, don’t you worry.” She giggled. “I’m proud of our little museum here, but we’re hardly the Louvre or anything.”
He drifted off, deliberately taking his time feigning interest in every display. The place looked like it had been someone’s home at some point. The displays—everything from a detailed history of the area’s farming, crops, and agricultural implements to several well-researched presentations on prominent local dignitaries—were arranged in the individual rooms. Stone had to allow that whoever had put this place together had obviously done it with love: they’d even taken the care to arrange the exhibits in a logical manner, with the agricultural and food-related displays in the kitchen and dining room, the dignitaries each in their own bedrooms, and the general history of the town in the large sitting room facing the street.
He passed the Girl Scouts, a small gaggle of five chattering nine-year-olds and their chaperone—coming out of one of the bedrooms. They all waved cheerful greetings and thundered past on their way upstairs.
The McGrath exhibit, the highlight of the collection, was displayed in a large, finished attic. Stone noted, as reached the stairs to it, that someone had painted “mystical” symbols, rabbits in hats, stars, and similar artwork on the walls leading up. THIS WAY TO MCGRATH THE MAGNIFICENT was painted in old-fashioned script, with a fancy arrow pointing up. BE AMAZED BY TILLEY’S MOST FAMOUS CITIZEN.
