by R. L. King
“He does not exist.” Kolinsky held up the envelope, which Stone could now see contained more cards. “Azarion Holdings is a shell corporation—one the mundane authorities would find impossible to trace back to any individual. Mr. Goranson is an employee of the corporation.”
Stone grinned. “This is bloody brilliant, Stefan. So then, all I’ve got to do is use an illusion so I look like this bloke?”
“Just so.”
“Brilliant,” he said again, pocketing the cards. Then he narrowed his eyes at Kolinsky. “Is that what you’re cooking up for me with your elusive friend? My own shell corporation? Is that why it’s going to take so long?”
The dragon inclined his head. “Consider what you would like to name it. If you choose to proceed, my associate will require a flat fee, payable annually, to maintain the organization and create a number of available personas. Any additional personas or work outside the scope of the original agreement will incur additional expense.”
Stone didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but having a dummy corporation set up to help him keep his increasingly-frequent travel secret wasn’t it. He shook his head in wonder. “I’m not sure why I thought you’d be setting me up with some bloke in a back alley with a coat full of fake ID cards…you’ll have to forgive me, Stefan. I’m clearly thinking too small.”
Kolinsky gave a thin smile. “It is a habit I suggest you break as soon as possible.” He nodded toward Stone’s pocket, where he’d stashed the cards. “In any case, those should serve you sufficiently for a brief trip to Nebraska. I will contact you when my associate is ready.”
“Thank you. I’ll bring the pyramid by in the next few days—probably after the auction’s over. Maybe I’ll get lucky and somebody completely unrelated to any of this mess will buy the fake I swapped in.”
As Stone drove through the gate to his house, his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
Hey, lover, it said. Last night was amazing. We should do it again.
He pulled into the garage and sent an answer: It was indeed, and we absolutely should. How are things with you?
Everything’s great. Been thinking about you all morning.
Stone smiled. He couldn’t be certain, of course, but he was fairly sure she was telling him obliquely that the Ordo people who’d hired her were buying her story. If so, that gave them some breathing room, but he’d still have to remain on his guard and maintain the charade. And I, you. I’m busy today, but dinner tonight?
Not just dinner, I hope.
That’s up to you, love. I’ll call you later?
Can’t wait.
Stone didn’t doubt for a moment that Kolinsky’s fake IDs would work as billed, and to his delight he wasn’t disappointed. After tweaking his disguise amulet so he matched the Mark Goranson photo on the driver’s license, he had no trouble renting a car in Kearney.
The drive from there to Tilley was much more pleasant when he was in control of both the vehicle and the musical selections, though he did get a small shiver when he passed the site of the rollover accident on the way. He hoped the cabdriver hadn’t suffered any severe or permanent injuries.
The Tilley Museum was open. Stone sat in his car in the parking lot and watched a small troop of hyperactive uniformed boys shepherded inside by a frazzled-looking woman. He waited fifteen minutes, altering his amulet illusion again to match the young man he’d been last time he’d come here, then headed inside.
To his relief, Mrs. Hodges was there, sitting behind her desk with a cup of tea and a celebrity-gossip magazine.
She smiled when she spotted him, her eyes twinkling. “Well, hello, Mike! I hadn’t expected to see you again. I thought you said you were just passing through.”
“Hello, Mrs. Hodges. I was. But then I had another thought while I was working on my paper, so I decided it was worth coming back.”
“What’s that, dear?”
He gave her aura a brief glance. She seemed genuinely glad to see him—probably because of the generous donation he’d made—and not at all stressed. Apparently, she was well accustomed to dealing with squirrely herds of small boys. “Well…I was looking through the auction catalog, and I thought it might be nice to include a few photos of Mr. McGrath’s home in my paper. It’s…still here, isn’t it? It didn’t burn down or anything?”
She laughed. “Oh, no, dear. It’s still here. It’s over on Elm Street, at the end.”
That matched with what Gina had told him when she texted earlier that day.
“But I’m afraid you won’t be able to get inside. The people who own it aren’t here. They’re visiting their grandchildren in Arizona for the month. Lovely people. The Welbergs, they’re called.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. But I guess I could still get some photos of the outside, right?”
“I don’t see why not, as long as you don’t go into their yard.”
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t trespass.” He considered. “Mrs. Hodges…you said you knew Mr. McGrath when you were young, right?”
“I did. As I said, he was a sweet, kind man.”
“Did you ever…go inside his house? Did he show you any of his magic gear? I mean, I know it wouldn’t have been proper for a young woman to visit an older man on her own, of course.”
Again, she laughed. She had a friendly, grandmotherly laugh. “I did visit once, actually. But I wasn’t alone. His wife was there too. Both of them were very kind, and sad. As I said, I don’t think either of them ever got over the loss of Willie, their son.”
Stone had asked Eddie to make him copies of the pages from the Sphinx magazine. He pulled them out now. “I found this old magazine—it had an article about Mr. McGrath in it, and I found something that really fascinated me.” He pointed. “Right here, Willie says he got to play in the hidden room, and Mr. McGrath says it’s supposed to be a secret.” He met her gaze, trying to look as sincere and eager as possible. “Did you see it, Mrs. Hodges? Did he have a secret room in there?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, my. We don’t have that magazine as part of our collection. I’ve never seen that article before. You’re quite the detective, young man.”
“Thanks. I wish I could give it to you to add to the exhibit, but it’s not mine. Anyway—have you ever heard about the secret room?”
“Oh, yes.” She leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Now that you mention it, I’ve even seen it.”
“No kidding?” Stone grinned. “Can you tell me about it?”
She considered. “Oh, my—I haven’t thought about that room in…it must be forty years. I suppose I can tell you what I know, which isn’t much. It’s not like the secret can cause him trouble anymore, since the whole family line died out. Also, I doubt it’s there anymore at all. The house has been sold two or three times since Mr. McGrath died, and remodeled at least once. I don’t think too many people knew about the room.”
Stone wondered if she was right. Even if Leander McGrath had been a genuine mage and magically concealed the room’s entrance, magic faded. Especially with no ley line to sustain it. “Can you tell me about it? That story would make a great addition to my paper, too.” He pulled out a notebook and a pen.
“Not much to tell, really. Like I said, I haven’t thought about it since well before you were born. I barely remember it anymore. I think…” She rubbed her chin and stared off into space past him. “Yes…I think it was downstairs in the basement, hidden behind a big, built-in bookshelf. I didn’t see how he opened it—he wouldn’t show me that—but the room itself was about the size of a small bedroom. He kept some of his more valuable magical tricks in there, and the ones he was most afraid somebody would steal. We only spent a few moments inside, and then—”
“Hey, Lady!” A shrill voice sounded, followed an instant later by a small, wide-eyed boy pounding down the stairs.
Mrs. Hodges spun her chair around. “What is it, dear?”
“Jacob puked in the Zachar
y Muldoon room! All over the floor! Mrs. Torelli wants to know if you got a mop and a bucket.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Hodges sighed. “I’m sorry, Mike, but I’ve got to handle this.”
“That’s fine,” he said hastily. “Thanks for your stories. They’ll be a big help. Take care.”
He got out of there as the boy took the old woman by the hand and was already trying to drag her up the stairs.
This time, he didn’t wait for full darkness. He saw no point. The faster he got in and out of the McGrath house, the better. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone being home.
As he drove over to Elm Street, he tried not to let his mind wander, but he couldn’t help thinking if things went as he hoped they would, in less than an hour he’d have the other half of the magical blocker. Sure, he wouldn’t have the book, if there was one—unless he got much luckier than he had a right to and McGrath had that too—but he had confidence that between himself, Eddie, and Ward, they could work out how to make the thing function.
And if not, he’d take it to Kolinsky.
Elm Street was a typical Midwest lane, lined with light snow, tall, leafless trees, and staid, middle-class houses set back from well-tended yards. As both Gina and Mrs. Hodges had indicated, Leander McGrath’s former home was all the way at the end, at the edge of a grove of trees. There was more space between it and its nearest neighbor than most of the others, and a low, white-painted wrought-iron fence surrounded it. The house itself was a sprawling, two-story structure, yellow with white trim. The yard was full of whimsical birdbaths, stone statuary, and other folksy decorations.
Stone turned the car around and parked several doors down, then summoned his disregarding spell and walked back, maintaining a confident, easygoing gait that wouldn’t draw any suspicion.
Getting inside was easy: brief invisibility combined with levitation got him around the back and up to one of the second-story windows. He unlocked it and slipped inside in less than ten seconds.
Using levitation once again to keep from leaving any footprints in the carpet, he drifted silently downstairs to the ground floor. It took him a little longer to find the stairs to the basement, but eventually he located the door near the pantry in the kitchen. He didn’t pay much attention to the décor, except to note that it was more homespun, country kitsch and involved a lot of chickens. He wondered what Leander McGrath would have thought of the new owners’ decorating style.
The basement was obviously Mr. Welberg’s domain. Unlike the busy, old-fashioned style of the upper floors, this space was furnished as a “man cave,” with a comfortable couch, big-screen TV, bar, pool table, and Cornhuskers and Denver Broncos memorabilia.
Still hovering, Stone turned slowly around, scanning the walls. Mrs. Hodges had said the secret room was behind a bookshelf. There was still one here, built into the left-side wall. Mr. Welberg had lined it with sports trophies, photos of himself and his buddies, stacks of hunting and fishing magazines, and a number of dusty old books he’d probably never read.
First, Stone checked with magical sight, but nothing showed up. No surprise there. If there had been any magic in the house, it would long ago have faded.
This would be the hard part.
To his surprise, though, it turned out not to be nearly as hard as he’d expected. He started on the far side of the shelves, using a light spell to methodically examine each one in turn and more magic to move items out of the way so he wouldn’t leave any fingerprints.
The catch, when he finally located it, was on the bottom of the second shelf from the floor on the middle section. Stone had to give McGrath credit: there was no way anybody would have found it if they weren’t specifically looking for it. Operating it required him to press a tiny, concealed button flush with the underside of the shelf, listen for a tiny click, and then pull the whole section out from the wall.
“There we go,” he murmured, smiling. Finally, something was going his way. He raised his hand, shining his light spell into the space he’d revealed.
The hidden room was small—as Mrs. Hodges had said, barely the size of a tiny bedroom. It, too, was lined with shelves along three of its walls, with a wooden table in the center. Dust covered every surface, and decades-old cobwebs hung from the ceiling and the shelves.
It was quickly obvious that most of it was empty.
Only a few items, as dusty as everything else, remained on the shelves. Several boxes were piled at the room’s rear, and a few more random objects—an old top hat, some battered magic props, and a small, faded empty box—lay on the table.
Stone floated closer, holding his breath to avoid a coughing fit from the dust he’d disturbed with his entry.
Was the stand not here after all?
None of the boxes were large enough to contain it, nor was it small enough to fit on the shelves. He crouched and peered under the table, but found nothing but more dust and an old pair of slippers.
No, damn it, I was so sure it was here…
He rose again, trying not to let his despair get the better of him. It had been a long shot, after all. Just because it made every bit of sense in the world that the object would be here didn’t mean it actually was.
As he scanned the tabletop again, though, he spotted something he hadn’t noticed before.
There was a square, dust-free space in the center of the table, measuring approximately one foot on each side, as if someone had recently removed something.
He tensed, remembering the dimensions he’d seen for the stand in the McGrath auction catalog.
At its base, it had measured twelve inches square.
But if it had been here, who had taken it?
He held up his hand, moving the light spell over the table’s full surface, and only then did it reveal the answer.
Someone had used a finger to draw a symbol in the dust, directly below where the object had been removed.
“No…” Stone murmured, clenching his fists. “Damn it, no…”
He knew that symbol all too well—and also knew why whoever had beaten him here had left it there.
Ordo Purpuratus had gotten here first.
And now they were taunting him.
30
The drive back to Kearney seemed to take considerably longer than the one to Tilley had, mostly because Stone had been full of hope before and now he was brimming with frustration and a growing sense of defeat.
Until he’d seen the contents of the secret room, he’d had only a speculation that Ordo Purpuratus had joined the search for the magic nullifier. Now he was sure of it.
He was also sure they knew he was after it.
That was probably why they’d sent Eleanor after him. They had the bottom part now, and they needed the top part to make the thing work. Stone had no doubt their people were as capable of figuring out its workings as he and his friends were, even if the book did exist and they didn’t have it.
Or maybe they did have it.
If so, they had two out of the three pieces, and would be even more desperate to get their hands on the third.
As he drove, he pulled out his burner phone and tapped in a number. “Hello, Jason.”
“Hey, Al. I’m guessing you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be if you’re calling from one of your burners.”
“I’m in Nebraska again. There was a secret room in McGrath’s old house, so I checked it. I thought what I was looking for might be there.”
“I’m also guessing from your tone that it didn’t go well. You okay?”
“Define ‘okay.’ Nobody attacked me, if that’s what you mean.”
“But it wasn’t there?”
“It was there. Operative word: ‘was.’”
“I don’t get it.”
“Somebody beat me to it.”
Jason let out a long sigh. “Shit. How do you know it was there, if you didn’t find it?”
“Because there was a spot on the table exactly the same size as the bottom of it. And because whoever
took it left a message in the dust right next to it.”
“A message?”
“For whoever got there after they did. They were taunting me—or whoever they expected to show up after them.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“I do. It was the Ordo.”
Long pause. “You mean those rich asshole mages your family used to be connected with?”
“The very ones. They’re operating in America now, apparently, and they’re after this thing. And now they’ve got part of it.”
“Yikes. So there are three groups after it now—you, them, and those Portas people.”
“Possibly four. Don’t forget that government organization that contacted Blum.”
Another long pause. “Damn, Al, you really can’t do anything the easy way. So what do you want to do now?”
“I’ve got to get back home, and I’ve got some plans for later tonight. I suppose our next step is to attend the auction. It’s this Saturday at six p.m. in San Francisco. Can you and Amber make it? I’d like to have as many eyes on the place as possible.”
“Yeah, sure, of course we can be there. Have you contacted V yet?”
“Not yet. Can you do that for me? I need to call Blum, too. I don’t know if he’ll want to go, but as I said, the more the merrier.”
“Sure, I’ll talk to V. I doubt she’ll want to miss it.”
“Thank you, Jason.”
He was about to hang up when Jason spoke again. “Wait—where did you say you were?”
“Nebraska.”
“There’s no portal near there, right? I thought you said you had something to do tonight. How are you gonna get home from there that fast?”
“Sorry—line’s cutting out. Rubbish reception. Talk to you soon.” He flipped the little phone shut and tossed it on the passenger seat.
When he got home, he debated whether to call Eleanor. On the one hand, he did need to maintain the charade that he’d fallen for her, for her own safety. On the other—what if her employers had known all along that things weren’t as they seemed, and they were playing him every bit as much as he thought he was playing them?
