by King, R. L.
They nodded, conceding. After making him sign a series of forms stating that he refused treatment and wouldn’t sue them if he took a turn for the worse later, they gathered their gear and departed. Stone waited a moment longer to make sure he wasn’t going to fall on his face if he moved, then motioned toward the front of the courtyard and followed Aguirre out.
By now they’d ushered all the customers out onto the sidewalk in front of Bart’s; the only people who remained inside were the two cops, the EMTs, the bookseller, Stone, and the teenage boy. Farrell had handcuffed him, and he sat at one of the small tables looking confused and miserable. As Stone and Aguirre approached, Farrell said, “I called it in, and they called his parents—they’ll meet us at the station.”
“Please listen to me,” the boy begged. He was a tall, muscular kid with clear blue eyes, a pug nose, and a strong jaw, and he looked like he was about to burst into tears. His eyes met Stone’s and he leaned forward, raising up a bit in his chair. “Please, mister. I didn’t mean to do it. I don’t even remember doing it! I was just standing there looking at that book. You went past and the next thing I knew—”
Stone looked at him, startled by his words. He shifted easily to magical senses, his eyes going blank for a moment as he looked at the boy with new perception.
Whatever odd aura he’d seen around him before was nowhere in evidence. Either he hadn’t seen it properly before—which was certainly possible, given that he had been in the process of blacking out at the time—or else it had been there before and was now gone.
The boy looked at Farrell and then back at Stone. “Please, you have to believe me!” His voice pitched higher. The hint of hysteria sounded utterly out of place in a voice that was probably much more used to calling football plays and chatting up teenage girls than to terrified pleading.
Despite his bruised neck and the residual numbing fear that came with nearly getting murdered, Stone felt nothing but sympathy for the boy. He did believe him. It was very clear to him now that something had taken the kid over and had departed as soon as the bookseller had come on the scene.
Something that could apparently hop in and out of bodies as easily as he himself would change a set of clothes.
Something that wanted him dead.
Stone let out a long, slow breath.
This changed a lot of things.
He looked at the boy. “I do believe you,” he said softly.
The two cops stared at him, dumbfounded, as did the boy. “What the—?” Aguirre began.
Stone held up a hand. “You do what you need to do, officer. But I won’t be pressing charges.”
The boy’s shocked expression suggested that everything that made sense in the world had all gotten together and boarded an outbound train for someplace far away. “You—believe me?” he whispered.
Aguirre grabbed his arm and pulled him up. “He might, kid, but I don’t. Not yet. C’mon, we need to get you down to the station.” He turned back to Stone. “Dr. Stone, I know you probably don’t feel up to it right now, but we’ll need to talk to you more about this later—”
“I’m not going anywhere, Officer,” he said. “Not for a few days, at least. You know where to find me.”
In less than fifteen minutes the police were gone with the boy, the EMTs were gone, and the curious customers, supplemented by a few more passersby who’d noticed the commotion and stopped to find out what was going on, had filtered back in. Several of them kept snatching glances at Stone while trying not to be obvious about it; he could feel their gazes on him, their interest an almost palpable thing. He needed to get out of here.
Stone was not a coward—far from it, in fact. In just the last couple of years he’d stood against more than one powerful magical entity and come out on top against some long odds. Still, he took a moment to gather himself sufficiently to go back down the narrow passage to the Occult section and retrieve the small pile of books he’d left there, along with the three on the shelves that had glowed to his magical senses. He didn’t waste a moment and kept his shield up the whole time.
The bookseller, who was back behind his table but who still appeared nervous and shaken, gave Stone a worried, questioning look, as if he expected him to keel over any second. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.” All this attention was starting to grate on Stone’s nerves. He dropped the stack of books next to the others he’d picked out. “I’ll take those as well—and there are a couple in the locked case I want.”
Five minutes later he left with his purchases (which the bookseller had given him a substantial discount on, in light of events). His walk to the exit was through a gauntlet of customers’ stares. It wasn’t until he was back behind the wheel of the BMW with the bag of books tossed on the passenger seat that he finally allowed himself to relax. He sat there for a few minutes, then started the car and drove off.
From across the street, an old lady walking a dog paused to watch him leave, smiling a most unwholesome smile.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Stone made it back to his house, checked his wards, and dragged himself inside, the events of the last two days had begun to catch up with him in a big way. He flung his coat over the chair and himself onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.
He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept all that well the previous night: even though the entities that had tossed him around at the barn hadn’t seriously hurt him—thanks to his shield—his body still felt stiff and achy and generally out of sorts. And now that the adrenaline of the afternoon had finally drained away, both his neck and his head were starting to hurt a lot.
He waved a hand and his bottle of ibuprofen sailed across the room; he tossed three back, swallowing them dry and wincing as they scraped down his raw throat. Right now, he decided, it would be quite nice to have something stronger. The temptation was powerful enough that he actually considered dropping by the hospital to let them check him out in hopes that they might give him a prescription, but two things stopped him: his deep and abiding dislike of hospitals, and the fact that he couldn’t afford to dull his senses too much right now. Something out there was after him, and he had no idea what it was, or why. The only thing he’d dealt with personally that even slightly resembled this was the Evil, and despite the possession angle it wasn’t acting at all consistent with them. That left him fresh out of good guesses.
Regardless of any of this, he knew there was no way he’d be doing any rituals tonight. In his present state it would be foolish at best and suicidal at worst. Either way, it also wouldn’t do Jason any good. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he had to acknowledge that whatever had Jason either still had him and that wasn’t likely to change today, or else Jason was already dead and there was nothing he could do about it.
He tried not to think about what the thing might be doing to his friend. He could deal with the guilt about that later, if it was called for.
Still, much as he wanted to just curl up and sleep for the next two days or so (assuming his various aches and pains would let him), he knew he wasn’t going to get the luxury of that kind of idleness until after he found out what had happened to Jason. He hauled himself up off the couch, retrieved the bag with all the books he’d bought, and settled down to look through them. Maybe one of them would have something he could use.
He realized almost immediately that this wouldn’t be productive. His concentration was shot. Tossing the book aside, he leaned back on the couch and sighed. He didn’t quite understand it: he hadn’t reacted this strongly to some of the serious magical threats he’d dealt with in the last couple of years, and some of them had injured him far worse than a few bruises. Why was this one bothering him so much?
He thought he knew, actually. Ever since he’d met Jason and Verity and they’d gotten him embroiled in the whole affair with the Evil, he’d had someone around to talk to. Someone to bounce ideas off, to p
oke him when he started getting too full of himself, to give him a metaphorical slap when his dark moods started creeping in and taking him over. It had never occurred to him that he’d grown accustomed to having them—or somebody—around. He couldn’t even fall back on one of his short-lived serial relationships, giving her a call just to chat for a few moments and reconnect with a world where people didn’t even believe magic existed.
He realized that he was pretty much alone, and right now alone was not something he wanted to be.
He got up again and headed to the kitchen. This was not a wise thing he was about to do. There were other things he should be doing tonight. He couldn’t afford to take the time.
But right at that moment, he didn’t give a damn.
He pulled a card from his pocket, picked up the phone, and made a call.
“I must admit I was surprised to hear from you tonight,” Lindsey Cole said, smiling. “Pleased, but surprised.”
They sat at a candlelit table in the patio of Don Armando’s downtown, sipping drinks and waiting for their orders to arrive. Stone returned her smile. “I hadn’t expected to call either,” he admitted. “But I needed a bit of a break, and since I was so rude to you yesterday—”
“Standing me up because you were at the police station isn’t rude,” she pointed out. She wore a green blouse that complemented the sparkle in her brown eyes, and had pulled her long hair back into a loose ponytail. “How’s the house working out, by the way?”
“Very well.” She hadn’t noticed the bruises on his neck yet—he supposed they wouldn’t be at their most obvious until tomorrow sometime—but he’d suggested they sit in the patio just the same. He didn’t feel like answering questions about this afternoon; he just wanted to have a pleasant evening and forget about everything else for a few hours. “Much nicer than a motel room.”
“Do you know how long you’ll be staying in town?”
“Not really. The new quarter at Stanford starts in a couple of weeks, and I’ll need to be back for that, of course, but I’m hoping it won’t take that long to locate my friend.”
“You don’t think he might have just—left for somewhere, do you?” she asked. “I mean, people do that sometimes, without even telling their closest friends.”
“It’s possible,” Stone said, even though he knew otherwise. “If I don’t find any leads in the next few days, I might have to consider that he’s done just that. If so, then there’s not much I can do about it. He’s a grown man and can go where he pleases, of course. But I’ve never known him to do anything like that, and it does seem particularly odd that he missed the very wedding he came down here to attend in the first place, don’t you think?”
“Good point,” she said, nodding. “Well, like I said, if there’s anything I can do to help you—”
“There is one thing, actually,” Stone said. “It may seem a bit odd, but it might be useful.”
She tilted her head. “What’s that?”
Stone sipped his Guinness. “I’m looking for information about local history. Particularly legends, stories, strange occurrences—that sort of thing. You mentioned before that there was a fair bit of that around Ojai.”
Lindsey looked confused. “This is going to help you find your friend?”
“Well—when he called me, he told me he’d found something strange that he thought might interest me. I assume that means it’s got something to do with the supernatural. I picked up some books on local history today, but I was hoping to get more of a personal account, if possible.”
Their entrees arrived, and Lindsey arranged her napkin on her lap before answering. “Well—yes, there are quite a few stories. Mostly the sorts of things kids tell at sleepovers, to scare each other. Is that the kind of thing you want?”
“Anything you think I might find interesting,” he said. He waved his fork. “You’re right, by the way—the food here is excellent.”
She smiled. “I’m glad. My friends give this place rave reviews.” She took a bite, thinking. “Well, let’s see. There’s Char Man, of course. He’s pretty famous around here.”
“Char Man?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. He remembered seeing that name in the book he’d gotten at the Third Eye.
“Yes, he’s probably the most well-known of the legends. Kids, and even some adults, have been scaring each other with him since before I was born. He’s supposed to be some guy who got horribly burned in an accident many years ago, and he’s been haunting the area down by Creek Road ever since.”
“Creek Road?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes, the same place where—the body was found. But it’s a long road, so probably nowhere near the same area.” Pausing, she mused, “You know, a lot of the local legends center around that area, now that I think of it.”
“Indeed?” He leaned forward.
“I’m not really that familiar with all of them, but the ones I remember hearing about are a headless motorcyclist, a couple of little kids on a bridge, and—I think there was supposed to be a vampire down there somewhere for a while, too.”
“And all of these were near Creek Road?” He pondered. “Are there any stories you’re aware of that aren’t associated with it?”
“Well…there might be a couple haunted-house stories, but I’m not sure exactly. Char Man is definitely the most famous one I know of.”
“Interesting.” He sipped his drink. “In one of the books I picked up today but haven’t had the chance to look at yet, it mentioned something about the Chumash. Is that a local Indian tribe?”
She nodded. “They were the main tribe in the area. A lot of things around here, like the Topa Topa Mountains and Ojai itself, are named from Chumash words.”
“Any secret burial grounds, legends of evil demons, that sort of thing?”
“Not...really. The Chumash were a pretty peaceful bunch. I don’t remember ever hearing anything about them being into the whole ‘vengeance against the white man’ thing, or anything like that. They’ve even got a casino somewhere up by Santa Barbara, I think.”
He chuckled. “Yes, well, they don’t sound very frightening then, do they? At any rate, I appreciate the information. I’ll have to take a closer look at some of those books. It sounds like another trip down to Creek Road might be in order, though. I’ll just have to make sure to avoid the police from now on.”
“Always a good idea,” she agreed.
“So,” he said after a moment and another sip of his drink (it was doing wonders for his aches—he was going to need to order another one soon), “In the interest of not monopolizing the conversation with my odd interests—perhaps you might tell me a bit more about yourself. How did you come to sell real estate in this lovely little town?”
She laughed. “It’s not much of a story. I did grow up here, and the housing market is good. A lot of people like to get out of the rat race of Los Angeles and live here. Some of them even commute down there, which amazes me. But Ojai’s—different. Quieter. In a lot of ways, it’s like the Little Town that Time Forgot. Some would say it’s slightly more interesting than watching paint dry—mostly the kids, who can’t wait to get out—but it kind of gets under your skin after a while. You’d be surprised at how many of them come back.” Her eyes twinkled. “We also have a lot of celebrities who live around the area. It’s not at all uncommon to run into one of them at the grocery store dressed in grubby shorts and an old T-shirt.”
“When I first got here,” Stone said, “the clerk at the motel where I was staying said he thought I might be up from Los Angeles scouting film locations.”
She eyed him critically, with an impish smile. “Well, you do have that look. You definitely look—distinctive.”
“By which you mean—a bit daft,” he said, amused.
“You don’t exactly fit in, but I like that. It’s why I took a chance on asking you to dinner, actually. I lik
e people who don’t fit in. I thought sure you’d be married, or seeing someone, though.”
“Or gay,” he suggested. “I get that occasionally too. But no, none of the above. Honestly, I was surprised you were even interested. If you’ll forgive my own forwardness, you hardly strike me as the type who would need to resort to asking odd strangers to dinner. Surely your social calendar is full to brimming.”
She smiled. “You’d be surprised. I’m not exactly lacking for dates, but most of them have come from going to clubs with some girlfriends in Ventura. A surprising number of the men around my age in town are already taken. As much as I love it here, it does skew a bit older. Don’t even ask me how many guys old enough to be my dad have asked me out. Most of them were very charming, but—well—I’m not really into that, you know?” She gave him a slightly wistful look. “And what about you? Nobody back home in the Bay Area?”
He shook his head. “Not for quite some time, actually. I tend to get rather caught up in my work and go for months without remembering that I haven’t had a date.”
“It must be interesting, teaching about the occult. I didn’t even know that was an actual subject that people studied. Are your students psychic or something?”
“I suppose some of them might be,” he said. “Mostly, to be honest, they’re horror writers and goths and Wiccans. The Wiccans are the only ones who take it seriously. The writers are looking for material, and the goths are mostly looking for other goths of their preferred gender. And band names,” he added.
She laughed at that. “I must say you seem a lot more—um—normal than I’d picture for a guy who teaches Occult Studies.”
“Well, I did decide to leave my black robes and wooden staff at home. Sounds like I made the right choice.”
“Probably,” she agreed. “Though I’d like to see you in your black robes. You probably look quite dashing.”
