by R. L. King
He stowed the groceries in the trunk of his mother’s car and forced himself to walk nonchalantly down to the coffee shop, in case she was watching out the window. He half expected that she wouldn’t even be there—girls had pulled that one on him a few times during his early years in high school—but no, there she was, sitting in a secluded corner. She waved as he came in and motioned him over.
He looked around, seeing but not really noticing the other patrons: a woman with a laptop computer, an older man reading a newspaper, and two young men a little older than he was, seated on the opposite side of the room. Ethan dropped down in another chair opposite Trina.
“Hold on,” she said. “Let me get us something.” She headed off and returned in a few moments with a couple of steaming cups of coffee. Once she’d settled back in, she smiled at him. “So—I’ve still been trying to figure out where I know you from. I don’t think we went to school together—I’d remember you, I think.” She tilted her head. “How old are you, anyway? Twenty or so?”
“Yeah. Twenty. Almost twenty-one.” It slipped out before his mental censors could amend it.
She nodded, sipping her coffee. “Wait, I know. Maybe it was at a club. What kind of music are you into?”
Ethan had never been to a club in his life, but he wasn’t about to admit it. Instead he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I like lots of stuff. Punk, metal—” He glanced at her T-shirt. “Those guys local?”
She looked down. “Oh, IED? They’re based up in the City. Ever been to Will to Power?”
“Nah.” He decided to risk a little bit of the truth. “My mom’s sick, so I mostly stay down here and help take care of her when she needs it.”
“Aww, that’s nice,” she said. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he took a sip of coffee and caught himself once again looking at the tattoos on her forearms. They were very intricate and the more he looked at them, the more he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he’d seen them, or something like them, somewhere before.
“See something you like?” she asked wryly.
“Oh!” His eyes came up and he chuckled, suddenly more self-conscious than before. “I’m sorry. I—uh—that’s some awesome ink you’ve got there.”
She grinned. “Yeah, isn’t it? The artist did a great job. Hurt like a bitch, though, and he had a hell of a time getting them right.”
And then, suddenly, he realized why the tattoos looked familiar.
He’d seen versions of some of them in the magic books Stone had given him to read.
Something must have changed in his expression because Trina frowned. “You okay, Ethan? You look strange, all of a sudden.”
He swallowed and shook his head, trying to figure out a way to bring up what was on his mind without sounding like a total idiot if he was wrong. “I’m—yeah, I’m fine.” After a moment, he nodded toward the tattoos and asked, “What do they mean? If it’s okay to ask, I mean. If they’re personal—”
She smiled. “Well, they are personal, but I don’t mind if you ask. They’re magical symbols.” Her green, unblinking eyes met his.
“Magical.”
“Yep.”
He forced himself to grin. “So—are you, like, a witch or something?”
Her expression didn’t change. “Yep.” She nodded. “You can leave if you want. I won’t mind. Sometimes it puts people off. Or else they don’t believe me. I get that a lot.”
Ethan didn’t leave, though. Instead, he reached down and fumbled in his backpack. He still had one of Stone’s books inside, along with a sweatshirt and some notebooks. Not sure he really should be doing what he was doing, he pulled it out of the pack and set it on the table next to his coffee cup. He didn’t say anything.
Trina looked at the book, then at Ethan. Her expression was neutral, revealing nothing of what she was thinking. She indicated the book with a head motion. “Mind if I—?”
“G-go ahead.” Ethan felt strange, almost disassociated from himself. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice or in an open doorway, and that his next actions, whatever they ended up being, would be some of the most important he’d ever take in his life. Be careful, a little voice told him. Don’t let this get away from you.
Smiling encouragement, she glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then made a small gesture and the book floated up into her hands. She leaned back in her chair and paged through it, occasionally nodding or murmuring something to herself that Ethan couldn’t hear. Ethan watched her, sitting stiffly forward, scared of what she might say. She’d just proven it—she wasn’t lying about being magical. He suspected she’d done that on purpose, to put him at ease. It wasn’t working too well.
After several minutes, she set the book back down on the table. “Well,” she said with an odd, faraway smile. “I guess that explains where I might have heard of you.”
“Really?” He was surprised. “How—”
“You’re an apprentice, aren’t you?”
Ethan swallowed. He was wishing now that he had never run his cart into this very attractive young woman. This was all moving way too fast. “I’m not sure I should be—”
She laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Ethan. I won’t tell anyone. Why would I? It sounds like you and I are the same.”
“You’re an apprentice, too?” He looked up at her. She seemed too old, and far too sure of herself to be at the same stage of her training as he was.
“Well, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “I’m not, not anymore. I just meant that we’re both students of the Art. Not that many of us around—it’s good to find each other, right?”
“I’m not sure—” he began. He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to be telling anyone.”
“Why not?” Her laugh was amused. “I mean, of course we’re not supposed to tell anyone who isn’t one of us, but what’s the harm in meeting others? Doesn’t it feel lonely sometimes, being the only one? Only having your master to talk to?”
He had to nod. He couldn’t even talk about magic with his mother, not really. It wasn’t just that she was so sick that he didn’t want to bother her with it—it was that he didn’t feel like he could really explain it to her even if she was healthy and wanted to hear it. And aside from her, there was only Stone. “I—Yeah. Sometimes it does.”
“Mind if I ask who your master is?” She was still looking neutrally interested, like she was enjoying having a chance to chat with someone who shared her favorite subjects.
He hesitated.
“Wow, you are a newbie, aren’t you?” Again she laughed, but this time it held the tiniest hint of mocking. “Don’t worry, Ethan. Seriously. It sounds like whoever he—or she—is, they’ve got you pretty worried about giving anything away. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Suddenly Ethan felt stupid and embarrassed. Here he was, talking to the only other mage he’d ever met in his life besides Stone and his father long ago, and he was acting like a frightened five-year-old. “He—his name’s Alastair Stone,” he said, his voice taking on a little defiance. “He lives up in Palo Alto.”
She considered. “Stone. Hmm...sounds familiar. Oh, right: British guy? Early thirties? Tall, thin, dark hair? Kinda hot in a geeky way?”
Something burned a little inside Ethan when she said ‘kinda hot,’ but he shoved it down and nodded. “That’s him, yeah. Do you know him?”
“Know of him. Never met him. We don’t exactly travel in the same circles. I can see why you’re so scared of letting anything slip, though.” She tossed the book back on the table.
“Why’s that?” Ethan finished up his coffee and stowed the book in his pack.
She shrugged. “Stone’s kind of old school. He’s young, but he was trained by the old guard, and it shows. He’s actually a pretty big deal power-wise, but you’d never know it since he kinda does his own thing. Don’t tell me,” she added, grinning. “He gets all authorita
rian and gives you these big lectures about what you are and aren’t supposed to do, and tells you it’ll take you years to get through your apprenticeship.”
Ethan nodded, torn between how great Trina’s tight T-shirt looked as she breathed and not wanting to say anything against Stone. “Yeah, kinda. But he’s a good teacher,” he added quickly.
“Oh, I’m sure he is. I’ve heard he’s a fantastic teacher. And if you can stand working with him until he decides you’re done, he’ll probably teach you some great stuff.” She smiled and glanced at her watch. “Hey, listen, Ethan, I’ve gotta get going, but I’d like to get together again if that’s okay with you.”
He nodded. “That’d be cool,” he agreed. He was relieved that she wasn’t talking about Stone anymore, but also didn’t want their conversation to end.
“Tell you what—there’s a little thing at the Darkwave in Sunnyvale this Friday night. I’m gonna be there with some friends. You want to join us? It’s 18+ so it’s okay that you’re not 21 yet.”
Ethan forced himself not to sound too eager. This was the first time in his life that anybody had invited him to this sort of event. He thought briefly of his mother, but it would be at night—visiting hours would be over anyway. She’d probably be happy that he was finally getting himself a social life. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.” Pause, and then: “Are your friends—”
She grinned. “Yep. So you’ll have a chance to meet some more of us, if you want.” She reached in her small leather bag, pulled out a card, and wrote a time and an address on the back next to the words Nightmare Room. “Here’s where the party is. Starts at 10, but things don’t really get going until midnight. If you have any trouble getting in, just tell ’em you’re with me.” She handed him the card, brushing his fingertips with hers. “I really hope to see you there, Ethan. Oh—” she added, getting up. “One more thing.”
He was studying the card and trying to hold on to the tingle in his fingers where she’d touched him. “What’s that?”
For the first time she hesitated, looking nervous. “I hate to say this because I don’t want to encourage you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, but—would it be okay if you didn’t mention to Dr. Stone that we met? Like I said, he’s pretty old school, and I’m not sure he’d approve of you meeting other mages this early in your training. I really don’t want him showing up at my place going all Wrath of God on me for messing with his apprentice, or telling you he doesn’t want us getting together anymore.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me—from what I’ve heard, the guy might seem nice enough, but you don’t want to piss him off. And I’d feel pretty guilty if he decided to cut you loose because you’re not lockstepping along with his rules.”
Ethan nodded. “I won’t tell him.” He felt weird about that—keeping secrets from his master this early in his training didn’t seem like the right thing to do—but Stone didn’t have to know everything about his life. It wasn’t like Trina was going to be teaching him any magic or anything like that. They were just going to hang out, talk a little, and maybe he’d get somebody else’s perspective on the way things worked in the magical realm. Hell, Stone had even mentioned that most people who were Talented knew about it when they were a lot younger than he was, and that probably meant that by the time they started their apprenticeships, they knew a lot more general stuff about the arcane than he did. So, what would be the harm?
“Great,” she said. Damn, but she had a nice smile. She leaned down and brushed a kiss on the top of his head. “See you Friday, then. I think you and my other friends will get along great.”
And then she was gone, leaving Ethan to sit in his chair and watch the door where she’d exited. His thoughts were already far away, though. He didn’t even notice anything odd when the two young men—one blond, one dark-haired—got up and left the coffee shop a couple of minutes later. And it was several minutes after that when he remembered that he had a trunk full of groceries he really needed to get home.
Oliver was laughing his ass off as The Three drove north toward San Francisco. “You played that kid like a rented violin,” he told Trin from the driver’s seat.
“I wonder if he’s even been that close to a girl before,” Miguel said from the back. “Shit, I feel bad for the coffee shop guy, having to clean up all the drool around his chair after he leaves.”
“Now, now,” Trin said with a wicked grin. “He’s a nice boy. I just showed him a little attention, is all.” She stared out the window, thinking. “It’ll be a little harder than I thought, though: I didn’t know his master was Alastair Stone.”
“So?” Miguel asked.
She shrugged. “Stone’s a strange one. He’s an academic, mostly. Keeps to himself, but he’s got a reputation for being smart and good at reading people. Not to mention dangerous as fuck if you get him pissed off. We’ll have to be careful. The kid said he wouldn’t mention us to him, but he’s weak. If Stone catches on that something’s up, he’ll have it out of the kid in five minutes. And then we could be in trouble if we haven’t gotten what we need from him yet.”
Oliver made a contemptuous noise. “C’mon, Trin. No way Stone could stand up to all three of us. He’s a white mage, right? That means he’ll suck in a fight. We’d wipe up the floor with him.”
“Maybe, but I’d rather not have to,” she said. “Not directly, anyway. We can’t be involved personally. But it would be better if Ethan didn’t talk to him before Friday. Let me talk to a couple of people, and see what they can do for us to make that happen. Sometimes the mundane way is the best way of dealing with this sort of thing.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Stone was working late in his office on Thursday night. His course on Modern Occult Practices was particularly popular with the horror-writer set, which meant that any essays he assigned usually came back with far more detail than he’d asked for—or really wanted to read. He liked their enthusiasm, but always had to allow extra time for grading their essays.
He leaned back in his chair after finishing up one particularly purple specimen, raising his arms in a stretch and luxuriating in the satisfying pops up and down his back. A glance at the clock told him it was already after eight: he’d been here, hunched over his desk, for more than three hours following his last class of the day.
There were still at least ten more essays to go; if he did them tonight he wouldn’t get out of here for at least another couple of hours, and he’d half-promised Megan that he’d take her out to dinner. They hadn’t seen each other for a few days, since preparing upcoming final exams for their respective courses had taken up most of their time. Right now, Stone wasn’t missing his time with Ethan; if he’d had the boy’s magic lessons in addition to his course load, even the few hours of sleep per night that he’d been getting lately would become a luxury. He wasn’t exactly glad that Ethan hadn’t called, but he hadn’t done anything about it from his end, either.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, a habitual gesture that tended to make the front of it perpetually stick up in random, untidy spikes, and rose from the chair. “Tomorrow,” he muttered, gathering the ungraded essays, stuffing them in a folder, and filing them in his desk. The graded ones went into a different folder in the same drawer. Then he picked up the phone and tried Megan’s office on campus. She wasn’t there.
“Well, at least somebody has the sense to leave work at a proper time,” he continued under his breath, hanging up and dialing her home number. She didn’t answer there either, but that didn’t surprise him: she was probably on her way home or stopping to run errands. He left a message telling her he was leaving and that he’d pick her up in an hour, then shrugged into his overcoat, picked up his briefcase, and locked his office door behind him.
The building was deserted, as was the area around it, but this didn’t concern Stone. In the distance, he could see the pinprick lights of students’ bicycles as they rode by, heading toward the more central areas of the campus, along with the occasional car
’s headlights filtering between the trees and the buildings. The ancient, ivy-covered building housing his office was about as far as it could be from the middle of campus and still be part of Stanford proper—it amused him more than offended him that Occult Studies was one of a number of small fringe programs that didn’t get much respect next to their more prestigious counterparts in the sciences, arts, and medicine.
After all, he’d known the way things were when he’d accepted the post in the department two years ago—which had brought the number of faculty members associated with it to exactly three. The other two were a stodgy old woman named Edwina Mortensen, who’d been threatening to retire for the last several years, and a failed horror author named MacKenzie Hubbard, who did as little as possible while using his free periods to pound out more unsalable prose. Neither of them thought much of Stone, who had come in and revitalized the department with his youth and charismatic lecturing style to the point where enrollments were actually up. The program was, for the first time in its history, not living in perpetual fear of landing on the chopping block next time there were budget cuts.
Stone exited the building and headed for his car. There was a parking lot closer to his building, but he chose to park the Jaguar in one a couple of blocks further away due to the fact that he didn’t like leaving it under trees and dealing with the leaves and bird droppings he’d find on it every day.
The lot wasn’t quite deserted; there were still quite a few evening courses that hadn’t let out yet. The Jaguar was right where he’d left it, three spaces down from the nearest overhead light. He was already going over possibilities for restaurants to suggest to Megan when he drew close to it and noticed that its rear driver’s-side tire had gone flat.
“Oh, bugger,” he muttered, dropping his briefcase and leaning down to examine it more closely. He—or rather his mechanic—kept the car in good repair, and there was certainly no reason why the tire should have died on its own. He must have run over a nail or something.
