Necessary Sacrifices

by R. L. King

  Canby stood from where she’d been seated on one of the overstuffed sofas, looking out the window, and smiled. “Dr. Stone, it’s good to see you again. I’m so happy you’re taking such an interest in Verity’s progress. I apologize for inviting her here so soon, but she called us a couple of days ago and seemed quite keen to come back. Since you’d already given your approval—”

  “No, no, it’s quite all right. I won’t stay long—I just had something I needed to tell her. Could have done it on the phone, but since you invited me back—”

  “You’re always welcome here. Please—have some tea while we wait for her. She should be here any minute.” She used magic to lift a delicate teapot on the table and pour him a cup; she already had one in front of her.

  Stone supposed a cup of tea might help calm his nerves, which were jangling so badly he couldn’t imagine everybody at the complex couldn’t see. He had his aura under control, masking the agitation to make it look calm and settled, but that kind of effort required energy and he didn’t have much of that right now. He wished Verity would show up so he could talk to her and they could make some excuse to leave.

  “What sort of demonstration was she attending?” he asked, sipping the tea. It was quite good—strong and flavorful.

  “It was a ritual, at one of our outdoor circles. I could give you details if you like, but the short description involves harnessing the power of the earth in conjunction with nearby ley lines to provide a group of casters with more precision while performing long-term magical workings.”

  “Fascinating,” Stone said. “I’d love to hear more about it, but probably not just now.” He turned his head toward the door, hoping Verity would show up soon. The room was warmer than he’d remembered, but he didn’t see any sign of a fireplace or other heat source.

  “No, if you’re only here briefly, I think it might take a bit too long to explain,” Canby agreed. She regarded him over the top of her teacup, then tilted her head. “Are you all right, Dr. Stone? You look…distressed.”

  “It’s been a long day,” he said. “Sorry—it’s a bit warm in here.” He blinked a couple of times as Canby’s image swam in his vision. I must be more tired than I thought. He redoubled his efforts to keep his aura steady.

  “Oh, it’s not warm,” she said. “That’s just the mixture taking effect.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. “Mixture?”

  “Yes. It’s a proprietary blend—we have quite a lot of them here. They’re something of a specialty.” Her posture didn’t change, and her calm gaze didn’t waver.

  Stone’s vision was definitely blurring now. Canby’s image swam in and out of focus, and his hand holding the teacup shook.

  Oh, bloody hell… No…

  He leaped up out of the chair, trying to summon up a spell, but his legs felt like rubber under him. He dropped to his knees, then fell to the carpet, his teacup landing next to him. “No…” he said, but his voice came out garbled and indistinct. Now none of his limbs obeyed him; his attempt to scramble back up resulted in nothing more than weak flailing.

  A pair of high-heeled black boots appeared in front of his face. “Don’t worry, Dr. Stone,” Anna Canby’s voice came from somewhere far above, strange and echoing in his head. “You won’t be hurt. We just had to make sure you were…tractable.”

  “What…?” he mumbled. “What are—” Where was Verity? Was she even here at all? His brain couldn’t settle on a thought.

  “Shh…” Canby said. “Everything’s going just as planned. You’ll find out the details soon. Right now, just go to sleep like a good boy.”

  Her boots swirled into indistinct black blobs. As his consciousness faded, the last thing he saw was Canby bending to pick up a familiar bag next to the chair he’d been sitting in—a bag he didn’t remember bringing with him.

  Even to normal sight, the bag emitted a faint, sickly green glow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Awareness returned slowly. Stone’s head still felt like it was packed with cotton, his limbs heavy with fatigue. He blinked a couple times, then opened his eyes.

  He lay on a bare mattress, covered with a thin blanket. Above him was a wood-beamed ceiling. For a moment he couldn’t remember what had happened—how had he gotten here? Where was here? But then it came back to him and he jerked his body upward.

  Or tried to, until the heavy manacle around his wrist pulled him up short and he fell back to the mattress. As the blanket shifted, he realized he wore nothing but his shorts.

  “Sorry about the cuff,” said a female voice. “They wanted to make sure you couldn’t get away.”

  Heart pounding, Stone rolled to his side and took a look around the rest of his prison. The bed was in a small, cell-like room with bare, paneled walls. Off in the distance, water trickled. The room smelled of aromatic wood and earth. Underground?

  The woman who’d spoken sat in a chair a few feet from the bed, out of Stone’s reach. She had dark red hair and wore a simple cream-colored blouse and green peasant skirt. He didn’t recognize her.

  “What the hell is going on?” he demanded. He still couldn’t think straight—every time he tried, the thought seemed to float away. He rattled the manacle. “Why are you holding me prisoner? Where’s Canby? Where’s Verity?” Trying hard to focus his concentration, he attempted to visualize a spell pattern, but that proved even harder than holding more than a simple mundane thought. His head throbbed and the cotton seemed to pack tighter around his brain.

  “I can’t answer your questions, Dr. Stone,” the woman said in a serene tone. She didn’t seem at all disturbed by Stone’s agitation. “You’ll find out everything soon enough. I’m just here to give you another dose of your medicine.”

  “Medicine? What medicine?” Stone yanked harder on the manacle, but it was attached to a heavy chain that snaked under the bed. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Don’t worry. Nothing harmful. Just something to help you sleep. And to keep you from doing anything magical. It’s not your magic you’re here for.” She turned in her chair and retrieved something from a small table behind her, then held it up so he could see it. It was a hypodermic needle, filled with a pale green liquid. “I’m sorry to have to do it this way, but I doubt I’ll be able to convince you to swallow it voluntarily. Just hold still—it’ll be over in just a moment.” She moved in closer.

  Stone, never taking his eyes off the hypo, rolled to his side and glared at her. “You’re not getting near me with that thing. Don’t even try it.” He tried again to cast a spell, but once again the cotton tightened around his head. He sank back and scrabbled toward the wall, as far away from her as he could manage.

  “Please don’t make this difficult for yourself, Dr. Stone.” The woman’s voice still hadn’t risen above “pleasant.” She didn’t seem angry or disturbed by his lack of cooperation.

  Stone pressed tighter against the wall, continuing to watch her, still fighting to get the pattern for a spell past the strange heaviness in his head. Nothing. What had they given him? If he held this woman off long enough, would it wear off?

  The woman moved closer. “Just hold still…” she said in a soothing tone.

  He waited until she’d leaned in, raising the hypo, and then lashed out with his foot, aiming for her gut.

  Nothing went as he expected.

  First, his foot seemed to move as if in slow motion, giving her plenty of time to step back.

  She didn’t do that, though—she let the blow hit. It bounced off an invisible shield and deflected without even moving her back a step.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Stone,” she said. “I warned you not to make this difficult.”

  She raised her hand and suddenly Stone couldn’t move. He lay awkwardly with his back pressed against the wall, his gaze still fixed on her—but his limbs refused to obey him even in the limited way they had befo
re. Helplessly he watched as the woman once again moved in and briskly administered the contents of the hypo into his arm. Then she stepped back away from the bed and let her spell drop.

  Stone went limp, slumping back to the mattress. The area where she’d given him the shot felt warm, and heat radiated up his arm. “What the hell do you want?” he muttered, suddenly tired. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Go to sleep,” she told him gently. “You’ll be fine. I promise—they’ll tell you everything. But we need you to sleep for a while. Things aren’t ready yet. Trust me, it will be easier this way. Just go to sleep…”

  He didn’t want to. He struggled to sit up again, but his entire body felt weak and dissociated, as if it no longer belonged to him. “I want to know what’s going on…” His voice sounded thin and breathy now, losing volume as he spoke like a broken machine running down. “Where’s…where’s Verity…?”

  “She’s here. She’s fine. You’ll see her soon enough. I promise.” She patted his shoulder and re-covered him with the blanket. “Just rest now. You’ll want to be at your best soon.”

  He thought about asking why that was so. Perhaps he did—he wasn’t sure anymore. He could no longer tell the difference between the thoughts flying around inside his head and the ones he’d given voice to.

  In any case, if he had asked, he didn’t hear her answer.

  He drifted.

  He had no idea anymore if he was awake or asleep, or how much time was passing. His dreams—if they were dreams at all—were haunted by eerie green light, the distant voices of women, and uneasy images of Verity as he tried to reach her but couldn’t. Every now and then he thought he felt the sharp prick of the needle in his arm, but once again he couldn’t be sure if it was real or imagined. Sometimes the voices seemed closer, and every now and then soft hands touched him, helped him sit up, fed him something warm and flavorful. He might have tried to speak to them, but if he did, he never remembered what he said.

  Eventually, like a disoriented deep-sea diver who’d at last found the way to the surface, Stone felt the gradual return of his consciousness. At first he couldn’t be sure it was real—so many things hadn’t been lately, and he no longer had a frame of reference to tell which were which. But as some of the cotton began to clear away from his head, the drifty, floating feeling began to give way to a dull, throbbing headache and a heavy torpor in his limbs.

  “He’s coming out of it…” a faraway voice said.

  “Good. You can leave us now,” another voice—familiar? He wasn’t sure—responded.

  He heard light footsteps, then a door closing.

  “Wake up, Dr. Stone,” the possibly-familiar voice said. “I know you can hear me…”

  Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes. A figure sat next to the bed—tall, slim, female. “There,” she said. “Good. The disorientation will wear off quickly. Just lie back.”

  He blinked once, twice, peering at the figure as he tried to resolve the blurred image into something he recognized. When it finally settled into focus, he let his breath out and tensed. “Ms. Canby.” His voice sounded weak, exhausted.

  She sat where the red-haired woman had before, out of his reach—straight and alert, but relaxed. She wore a white blouse, dark gray skirt, and a blue scarf that matched her eyes. Every line of her clothes, her hair, and her makeup were perfect as usual.

  Stone looked down at himself. He’d tossed off the blanket at some point; he now wore blue striped pajama bottoms instead of the shorts he’d had on before. He raised a hand to his face, feeling the stubble there—if they hadn’t given him a shave since he’d arrived, it suggested he’d been here around two or three days. He felt rough and uncivilized next to Canby’s severe elegance.

  He blinked again, then glared at her. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded. His voice sounded stronger now, but still raspy. “Why are you holding me prisoner here? Where’s Verity?”

  Canby smiled. “You’re asking a lot of questions, Dr. Stone. And I’ll answer them for you. Not all at once, though. Some of them, you’ll find out later. Everything is almost prepared.”

  “What is almost prepared?” He tried to sit up again, but he’d forgotten about the manacle. In frustration he yanked it, but all that did was wrench his arm. “This is a very bad plan, Ms. Canby. You can’t hold me here forever, and when I get free—”

  “You aren’t going to get free, Dr. Stone. All the time you’ve been asleep, we’ve been giving you doses of a proprietary elixir we produce here—something we customized for you specifically. It’s quite effective at damping magical ability. I think you’ve already discovered that.”

  He frowned, trying to summon enough mental focus to form a spell. Once again, the cotton closed in. No matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t get past it. Panic rose. “What have you done to me? My magic—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your magic,” she assured him. “We haven’t done anything permanent to your abilities, but we couldn’t have you tossing spells around here. The effect will wear off in a day or two after we stop giving you the elixir.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “That implies you plan to let me go.”

  “That will be up to you. I assure you, this could all go quite smoothly, if you choose.”

  “What could?” Once again he tried to sit up; when the manacle stopped him, he threw himself onto his side and glared at Canby. “Tell me what the hell is going on! And where is my apprentice? What have you done with her?”

  “She’s fine. I promise. I believe she’s off with some of our group today, learning about how to use ley lines to aid healing.”

  Stone blinked. “How can that be? How long have you been holding me here? She’s got to be wondering—” He stopped as it sank in, and he slumped back with a sigh. “You never told her, did you? She’s got no idea I’m here. She never even knew I was coming.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Canby said, shaking her head with a ruefulness Stone didn’t even begin to believe. “She doesn’t need to know anything about the preparations.”

  Stone knew she wasn’t going to tell him what ‘preparations’ she was talking about—not until she’d decided the time was right, anyway—so he changed approach. “I want to talk to Nessa Lennox.”

  Canby tilted her head. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “She’s your leader, isn’t she? If you won’t answer my questions, perhaps she might. Or perhaps she might want to know what you’re up to.”

  “Oh, I assure you—she already knows what I’m up to.” She got up and began pacing around the room, always taking care to stay out of Stone’s reach. “And I already told you—I’ll answer your questions. There’s no reason not to. It’s not as if you can do anything about our plans.” She paused, studying him.

  “All right, then—let’s start with that wooden sculpture, and why I somehow brought it with me, even though I don’t remember doing it.”

  Canby didn’t insult him by trying to deny it. “Ah, yes. We were wondering if that had been lost forever, or destroyed. You can only imagine our surprise when we became aware of its existence only recently.”

  Anger rose, and Stone fought to keep himself under control. It wouldn’t do him any good to succumb to his rage now, when he was a captive. “That thing killed my father. And my master. I want to know what the hell it is.”

  “What it is—its true purpose, at any rate—I won’t tell you yet.” Canby returned to her chair and sat, crossing her legs and leaning back as if she were having a pleasant conversation with a friend. “You’ll find out in due time. But as you’ve probably already figured out—it’s quite powerful, and quite subtle.”

  “Is it cursed?” Stone demanded. “Is that why it drove my father mad, and caused my master’s death?”

  “I suppose you might say it’s cursed in a way, though that’s not truly what’s happening,�
� she said, considering. Her gaze sharpened. “You say it killed your master? So William Desmond had it? Is that where it’s been all these years?”

  “Yes. He had it in a triple-warded vault. He left me a document that told me where it was.”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding in satisfaction. “That explains it, then.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why we lost track of it. Mr. Desmond was a formidable mage—I’m sure his wards were sufficient to keep us from detecting it—but obviously not sufficient to block out all its effects. Pity. That was an unintended consequence, but he should have known better than to be imprudent with magic he didn’t understand.”

  Stone glared at her. “You talk as if you know all about this thing. You aren’t any older than I am, and the beginnings of this probably happened before you were born.”

  “Oh, you’re quite right. I wasn’t around at the beginning—or at least not old enough to know anything about it. But they’ve told me the whole story.”

  “Who has?”

  “The others. The ones who were here.”

  “Like Nessa Lennox.”

  When Canby didn’t answer, Stone pressed on: “So what is this thing? Why did it drive my father mad, but not Desmond? Why did it take so long for it to affect Desmond?”

  Canby took a deep breath, clearly considering her answer. Then she stood again. “Please excuse me, Dr. Stone. I think perhaps it might be better for someone else to explain this to you after all. I’ll be back.”

  Before Stone could protest, she hurried out of the room and closed the door behind her. He growled in frustration, yanking the manacle again even though he knew he couldn’t budge it. At least some of the fog around his head was lifting—that was something. Not enough to allow him to do any magic, but at least enough so he could think straight. He’d need to do that if he was going to get out of here. But if they were planning to tell him what was going on, he’d wait until then before he tried. He needed all the information he could get.