Balance of Power: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles Book 25)

by R. L. King

  “No. Just—get here as soon as you can. Thank you.” He disconnected, wiped the phone free of his fingerprints, and tossed it back into the car.

  He couldn’t be here when the EMTs arrived. His disguise was good, but it wouldn’t hold up to too much scrutiny, especially since he had no ID on him and wasn’t thinking as clearly as usual. But he couldn’t leave without at least trying to help the cabdriver. After all, it was his fault the man was out here in the first place.

  He crouched next to the window, using a light spell to examine the driver more closely. He was still unconscious, his skin pale and blotchy, his breath slow and labored. This couldn’t be a good position to be in for too long, with all the blood rushing to his head.

  Stone drew a few deep breaths, focused his mind to ignore his own whole-body pain, and then reached out with his power. He tried to remember what Verity had taught him about effective healing, going back to the time when he’d done his best to make the dying Edwina Mortenson comfortable after the cave-in at Brunderville.

  Hard to believe that’s already been three years ago…

  Focus, damn you!

  There were two skills a mage had to master to be a good healer: the ability to view the body both as a system and as a series of subsystems, and the empathy to reach out to another person and channel the desire to heal into the energy to get it done. The first one, Stone could manage easily. His extensive magical training made him adept at thinking in systems, at multi-tasking his thoughts to maintain more than one pattern at the same time. The second, though, he’d never been good at. Verity joked sometimes that it was because he was, at his core, a self-centered person. She was probably right. But whatever the reason, he’d never got the knack.

  Fortunately for him, the cabdriver wasn’t gravely hurt. He concentrated on the neck injury first. The process of magical healing involved taking something that was out of balance and returning it to the state where it was meant to be, and this particular system was definitely out of balance. Stone couldn’t tell for sure, but although he didn’t think anything was broken, the man’s neck muscles had been cruelly wrenched in the crash. A bad case of whiplash, maybe.

  He tightened his focus to a pinpoint, blocking out everything else around him until the only thing that existed was the angry red aura hovering around the driver’s neck. Then he slowly, carefully directed his magical energy to nudge the system back into its proper pathways.

  The fuzzy, lightheaded feeling rose again, and his head began to throb worse than ever. He recognized the feeling: it wasn’t an injury per se, but rather his body’s response to trying to channel arcane energy in unfamiliar ways when he was nowhere near at top form. He pushed past it, pouring the power in until at last the red, roiling miasma around the driver’s aura began to recede. The man moaned softly, but didn’t wake.

  Stone let his breath out and settled back in his crouch, swiping a hand across his forehead. He’d rest for a few moments, then tackle another injury. That was probably all he’d have time—or energy—for before more qualified help arrived.

  Behind him, the snow crunched.

  He whirled, losing his balance and falling sideways—which probably saved his life.

  A loud crack split the silence. A bullet flew through the space where Stone had just been and spanged off the side of the cab.

  Stone scrambled for a look, pulling a magical shield around himself despite the pain.

  A car was parked just off the side of the road, its headlights off. A shadowy figure stood near the open passenger door, pointing a handgun toward Stone. He fired again, but this time the bullet hit the shield and ricocheted away.

  “Oi!” Stone yelled, trying to get to his feet before the figure fired again. He struggled to gather power for an answering shot, but his response came too slowly. The figure dived into the car, slammed the door shut, and the car took off, throwing a plume of dirty snow behind it.

  What is going on? He must have been concentrating so hard on the healing spell that he hadn’t noticed the car approaching. But why would someone want to kill him out here in the middle of Nebraska? Nobody except his friends even knew he was here.

  When the possible answer struck him, he shook his head.

  That was ludicrous.

  A man appearing in the middle of the road, directly in front of their cab.

  A car following closely but not passing.

  Stone let his breath out in a cloud of billowing steam.

  Could it be?

  Had the figure in the road been an illusion, designed to make the cabdriver do exactly what he’d done: swerve in panic and veer off the road?

  If it had been an illusion, had someone known he, Stone, was in the car? He couldn’t imagine why anyone would use magic to kill a nobody cabdriver.

  Could this have something to do with the man who’d stolen the catalog?

  Perhaps he’d been keeping a watch on the museum to see if anyone else showed interest. Even if he didn’t know Stone had managed to obtain a copy of his own, he still might see value in eliminating any competition looking for the pyramid’s companion.

  “Bloody hell…” he murmured.

  In the distance, red flashing lights appeared, accompanied by the faint yowl of a far-off siren.

  Damn.

  He looked at the cabdriver again. The man’s breathing was stronger and more steady even now, and his aura, while not clear, looked better. He’d be all right—or at least he was unlikely to die before the ambulance arrived.

  Stone pulled his coat closed and stumbled to his feet, risking a bit more magic to alter his amulet’s illusionary disguise. Now, he looked like a young, Latino drifter with an Army jacket, scraggly beard, knit cap, and backpack slung over his shoulder. He used a disregarding spell to conceal him further, not wanting to risk invisibility, and hurried away as fast as he could manage. By the time the ambulance and its accompanying fire rig and police car reached the cab, he’d already made it a half-mile from the scene. He kept low, walking off the road and keeping an eye out for the gunman’s car up ahead, until he was far enough away that he could only faintly see the lights behind him.

  When he couldn’t walk any further without a rest, he stopped and turned back again. The lights weren’t visible anymore. Stone didn’t think the EMTs had extricated the cabdriver already, so he must have made it farther than he’d initially thought. Score one for motivation, I suppose. He wondered what the authorities would think when they found the bullet hole in the side of the car. The cabbie wouldn’t remember the shooting or the man from the other car, but he might remember the figure in the road who’d caused him to swerve.

  And what about his passenger, the man who’d called for help? Would they look for him, thinking he’d wandered off in disorientation?

  Stone didn’t have time to worry about that now, though, aside from being grateful he’d had the presence of mind to change his appearance before calling the cab so the cops didn’t make a connection between the young man at the museum and the one in the cab. His body was already aching, and it was getting worse the more he walked. He wasn’t going to make it much farther on foot. But he didn’t think curling up in a snowy cornfield was a great idea, especially since he was still shivering from the water seeping through the back of his coat.

  You don’t make anything easy, do you?

  The thought reminded him of Jason, which reminded him he still had his burner phone in his pocket. If the water hadn’t got to it, he could call somebody. He wasn’t sure exactly what good that would do, but the thought comforted him nonetheless.

  One thing was going his way, at least: the phone was dry, and when he flipped it open, its tiny, primitive screen lit up with a satisfying glow. He wished he could sit, but the wet, snow-covered ground didn’t lend itself to that. Shivering, he tapped Verity’s number and plodded forward.

  He feared she wouldn’t answer. The burner’s number would come up as blocked on her phone, so she might let it go to voicemail. Please, Verity
, pick up…

  “Hi, it’s Verity. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you…”

  Damn.

  He looked at the phone. He’d chosen a bare-bones, no-frills option on purpose, but that meant its texting capabilities were limited to the old-fashioned, phone-style keypad. His hands shaking from the cold and from shock, he carefully tapped out a quick message:

  V pls pick up. Nd hlp. AS

  He sent the text, waited a few moments for her to receive it, then called again.

  This time, she answered instantly, breathlessly. “Doc? Is that you?”

  Relief flooded him. “Gods, Verity, it’s good to hear your voice. Thank you for answering.” His weak voice shook as much as his hands had.

  “Are you all right? You sound terrible. Where are you?”

  He forced himself to keep walking, though he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it up. His limbs felt like painful blocks of ice. “Nebraska. There’s…been an accident.”

  “Accident? Oh, God! What happened? Are you all right?”

  “I…will be, I suppose. I’m feeling ghastly right now, but nothing life-threatening.”

  “What town are you in?”

  “I’m not. I’m walking along the road out in the middle of nowhere right now. It’s bloody freezing, and every part of my body hurts.”

  “What?”

  “Listen…” He swallowed hard, trying to put some strength in his tone so he didn’t worry her. “I can’t talk long. Need your help.”

  “Anything. What do you need?”

  “Go…to my house. You still have a key, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Go there…and wait. I’ll be along as soon as I can. I need healing, Verity. Will you help me?”

  “Of course I will. I’ll leave now. But…you’re in Nebraska. You’re nowhere near a portal, are you?”

  “Please. Just…do it. Wait for me.” He was slowing down. The idea of curling up in the snowy field was starting to look more appealing. He glanced back over his shoulder, afraid he’d see the approaching red lights of the police or the ambulance. Instead, he saw a set of normal headlights off in the distance.

  Did he dare try to flag the vehicle down? It could be the gunman from the car again, tracking him. But it was a long way to the next town, and he knew there was no way he’d make it if he had to walk the whole way. “Verity—listen. I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you soon. Thank you.”

  He flipped the phone shut before she could reply. She couldn’t call him back because his number was blocked. He hated doing that to her—she’d probably give him an earful about it when he got back—but there was no helping it.

  The lights were getting closer now. Shivering, he staggered to the road’s edge and adjusted his disguise amulet again, this time making himself look like a stocky, dark-haired farmer type in jeans, plaid flannel shirt, heavy jacket, and work boots. If this vehicle didn’t stop for him, he had no idea how much longer it would be before another one came by.

  Gathering all his remaining willpower, stepped into the road and stuck his thumb out. It had been years since he’d hitchhiked anywhere—he had fond memories of doing it around the UK and Europe with friends during his summers at University—but he’d never been this desperate before. He concentrated on looking more like a man down on his luck and less like a serial killer and waited, heart pounding with anticipation.

  The headlights drew nearer, and now Stone could see the outline of the vehicle more clearly. It wasn’t a sedan, but a mid-sized box truck. Bigger than a pickup, smaller than a semi. For an agonizing second, he didn’t think it was going to stop, but then it slowed and carefully rolled off to the shoulder, its bright lights dazzling his eyes.

  He hurried over as fast as he could and opened the door. “Thank you. Thank you for stopping.” He remembered to use his American accent—the deeper one this time.

  The driver, a gruff-looking fiftyish man in a denim jacket, looked him over and waved him inside. “You’re a mess, son. You okay?”

  Stone’s every muscle protested as he climbed up and settled into the seat. “Car broke down. Been walking for a while.”

  “That ain’t too smart. Shoulda stayed with it, called the cops or Triple A or somethin’. Too cold to be walkin’ out here in this, ’specially at night.” He eased the truck back onto the road and stepped on the gas, then cranked the heater. “Just sit back and warm up. Where you headed?”

  “Kearney.”

  “You’re in luck. That’s where I’m goin’. There’s coffee in the thermos there on the console, and a blanket on the floor if you don’t mind dog hair.”

  “Thanks.” Stone tried to keep the shiver out of his voice, but couldn’t do it.

  The trucker snorted. “I ain’t gonna leave a fella out here in the middle of God’s armpit in cold like this. My wife’d have my hide. You ain’t a murderer, are ya?”

  “No.” Stone shook his head. “Too cold to murder anybody.” He hadn’t taken the guy up on the blanket, but he did pour a cup of coffee into the big thermos’s lid. It wasn’t hot, but it was warm and right now it tasted better than anything he ever ordered from one of the upscale shops he frequented in Palo Alto.

  “Well, that’s good t’hear. Just sit back, warm yerself up, and we’ll be in Kearney before ya know it.”

  Stone settled back, letting the heater warm his outside while the coffee warmed his insides. The cab smelled like coffee, sweat, fast-food burgers, and a hint of wet dog, and the radio played some political talk show at barely audible volume. Despite the throbbing in his head, he risked a quick look at the driver with magical sight, and was relieved to see a clear, medium-yellow aura with only the few minor darker spots he’d expect to see in somebody that age.

  He tried to stay awake. Between his all-over body aches, the shock from the accident, and his fear that the man from the car would somehow find him and take another shot at him while he wasn’t prepared, he didn’t think it would be possible for him to sleep.

  Maybe he’d just rest his eyes for a few minutes…

  Somebody was shaking him. “Hey, son?”

  “Uh?” He jerked awake, sending another bolt of pain through his head. “What?”

  “We’re here. Kearney.” The guy chuckled. “You slept like a baby the whole way in, but this is the end of the line, I’m afraid. I gotta head home.”

  “Oh. Er—” He looked around. The truck was idling in a gas-station parking lot. With a sigh of relief, he opened the door. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Told ya—the wife would kill me if I passed somebody by out there. You take care, son. Good luck with your car.”

  “Thanks.” He fumbled in the pocket of his coat, pausing to verify that the catalog was still there, and pulled out one of his last hundreds. “Here. Take this. It’s the least I can do.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. I’m happy to help.”

  Stone smiled and dropped it on the console next to the thermos. “Buy something nice for your wife, then. I might owe my life to her.”

  From there, it was easy to catch a cab to the ley line. Fortunately, ley-line travel wasn’t any more tiring than walking through the Overworld portals. Stone spent a few more moments gathering his energy and visualizing the pattern to make sure he didn’t pop out at the wrong location (at least Kolinsky had assured him there was no chance of appearing in the middle of a solid object—if he tried that, the spell simply wouldn’t work). The ride in the truck and the sleep had helped, but not much. He wasn’t cold anymore, but the shock and pain were catching up to him.

  Never gladder to leave a place than now, he released the energy. An instant later, he was standing in his upstairs study.

  “Bloody hell…” he murmured, slumping against the desk. Raider, who’d been curled up on his leather sofa, raised his head and opened one drowsy eye, then went back to sleep.

  “Yes…nothing to see here…” Stone pushed off the desk. He
couldn’t afford to stay here, as appealing as the sofa looked. Verity was probably waiting for him downstairs. He quickly stashed the catalog in a locking desk drawer, then left the room.

  Somehow, he managed to make it down without tripping and going arse-over-teakettle to the ground floor. He threw off his coat, dropped it in a heap on the floor, then slumped onto the living-room sofa before he noticed Verity wasn’t there yet.

  The key turned in the front-door lock, and a moment later, she strode into the living room, looking worried. She didn’t call for him, though, and her eyes widened in shock when she spotted him on the sofa.

  “Doc?”

  Oh, no…

  22

  Stone supposed this time he had a valid excuse for not, as his students were fond of saying, “braining” properly tonight. When he’d talked to Verity, he’d expected to have to walk for a lot longer before someone turned up willing to give him a ride. The trip back to Kearney had taken just shy of forty-five minutes—in other words, barely enough time for him to have made it home if he’d stepped into a portal immediately after he talked to her.

  And he couldn’t have done that, of course, because the nearest portal in any direction was hundreds of miles away from Nebraska.

  He decided his best course of action was to pretend he hadn’t noticed. “Hello, Verity.” This time, he did nothing to hide the pained shake in his voice. “Thank you for coming.”

  As he hoped, her concern for him overshadowed her suspicion—for now, at least. “What happened to you?”

  “Rollover accident in a taxi. I guess I’m the new poster child for wearing seat belts.”

  “Oh, God. How bad are you hurt?”

  “Don’t know.” He let his head drop back to the sofa pillow. “Didn’t really have time to do a thorough check. I don’t think anything’s broken, though.”

  “Come on—let’s have a look.”

  He felt only a hint of regret when she began removing his clothes. Her touch now was concerned, almost but not quite clinical. Not the touch of a nurse, but not of a lover, either.