Blood and Stone

by King, R. L.

  “What are we—” the cop began, but didn’t have time to get the rest out as Stone grasped his arm and clamped on with far more strength than he should have been able to. A second later, they both rose off the ground.

  Lopez, watching the carpet of leaves receding beneath his feet, tightened his own grip on Stone in near-panic. “What—”

  “Shh!” he hissed, his face drawn from the effort of levitating them both and moving them away from the tree. They didn’t have a shield now: if anything hit them hard enough to knock him out or even disrupt his concentration, they would fall. Maybe not to their deaths—not yet. But they had to go higher to get up over the trees.

  “Look out!” Lopez yelled. “Three o’clock!”

  Stone had no idea whose three o’clock he meant since they were facing different directions, but he took a chance and shifted them over to the left. Lopez’s fingers dug into his arms as another chunk of tree limb arced up, missing them by scant feet, and fell gracefully back down to earth again.

  They kept rising, tree branches and sharp prickly oak leaves tearing at their clothes and their exposed skin. The one positive in all this, Stone realized quickly, was that the farther they got away from the macabre tableau under the tree, the less he was affected by the nausea and disorientation caused by the corruption. Of course, now the exhaustion from maintaining the previous shield spell and levitating both himself and Lopez (who was no lightweight—like Jason, he was all muscle) was taking its place, but that would pass in time as soon as they got out of here.

  If they got out of here.

  “Go left!” Lopez called. He’d managed to clamp his right-hand grip onto Stone’s shoulder instead of his arm, and was in the process of trying to do the same with his left.

  “Your left or my left?” Stone rasped.

  “The road’s that way! I can see it!” Unable to free a hand to point, he jerked his head to his own left side.

  Stone couldn’t see where he was indicating, but once again he simply chose to trust him. He altered their direction, still scanning for any rocks or branches being flung their way. He couldn’t see any. He wouldn’t dare to hope that, as at the barn, the things were tethered to a particular site and couldn’t move too far away from it. All he could do was keep concentrating.

  “There’s the truck!” Lopez called after a couple of minutes. “Go down!”

  Stone, panting with exertion now, was only too happy to comply. His levitation spell was one of the easier for him to cast, but it was harder to carry others, and he’d never used it for such a long distance. Normally he employed it to get over walls or onto roofs, should the need arise—it had never been meant to serve as a means of transportation.

  With another quick look around to make sure nothing was hurtling toward them, he began lowering them, and soon spotted Lopez’s white truck parked halfway off the road. A moment later they touched ground, falling into a heap in the middle of the road about ten feet from the truck.

  Lopez scrambled to his feet, scanning the skies for anything incoming. “Looks like we got away,” he breathed. “Holy shit, what the hell have I gotten myself into?”

  Stone hadn’t bothered to get up. He lay in on his side, puffing like he’d just run all the way up here from Ojai. Like Lopez, his exposed skin was peppered with tiny scratches from the sharp little oak leaves they’d risen through; his black T-shirt had numerous small shredded holes. “Do you still have the camera?” he asked in a rough whisper.

  “Right here.” Lopez held it up from where it hung on a strap around his neck. He pulled it off, shoved it into his backpack, and tossed the pack into the back seat.

  Then he stopped, stiffening.

  As Stone watched in horror, Lopez turned back toward him, his shaking right hand inching toward the gun at his hip.

  “Stan…?” With effort, he shifted to magical sight, and saw it instantly: a shifting green aura hovered around the cop’s head. It didn’t look quite like Lindsey’s, though—instead of wreathing Lopez like a second aura, it moved and shifted as if trying to find its way inside.

  If Stone hadn’t been exhausted from his exertions, he would have cast some sort of spell—put up a shield, or telekinetically grabbed Lopez’s arm to prevent him from reaching the gun. But his hesitation revealed something, something he wouldn’t have noticed if he’d acted right away:

  Lopez was fighting it.

  The man’s face was dotted with beads of sweat. His hand, which still hadn’t reached the gun, shook as if he were straining against a nearly irresistible force. It stopped just above the weapon’s grip, fingers twitching.

  “Stan…?” Stone asked again. “Are you all right?” This was bad. Had he failed to put up a strong enough barrier around Lopez’s mind? Or worse, was this thing simply potent enough to punch through his best effort? If the latter were true, they were both in trouble.

  The green aura shifted again, and for a moment it seemed to settle more snugly around Lopez’s head. His eyes flickered between their normal brown and the telltale red-orange glow.

  His hand clamped spasmodically onto the gun’s grip.

  He pulled it halfway free of the holster.

  Stone was struggling for the power to put up a shield when suddenly the green aura flashed and dissipated as if it had never been there at all.

  Lopez’s shoulders slumped. He loosened his grip on the gun and it dropped back into the holster.

  “Are you all right?” Stone was still on the ground. He dropped the feeble shield, grateful he didn’t have to keep it up any longer.

  “I—” Lopez bent over, hands on his knees, panting. “What—the hell—was that?” His eyes flew open, and he stared at Stone in terror. “I felt something tryin’ to get into my head! Did that thing—you said—” He paused to get his bearings. “It wanted me to—shoot you. I thought you said you put a block up—”

  “I did.” Stone let his breath out as he considered the implications. “I think it’s more powerful up here. That’s why it was able to get past my shielding. But Stan,” he added, pushing himself up on an arm, “This is good.”

  Lopez looked at him like he’d suddenly gone insane. “How the hell is this good? That thing almost made me shoot you!”

  “The key word is ‘almost,’” Stone stated. “And that’s why it’s good. You threw it off.”

  “What? How?”

  “If had to guess, probably because you’re a cop. You’ve got a strong, trained mind. You’re used to dealing with all sorts of mental influences. And—no offense—it’s been my experience that most policemen are a bit…er…rigid in their thought processes. I think all of that helped you. At any rate, I’m glad you were able to do that. I’m not sure my shield would have been strong enough to stop you.”

  Lopez considered that a moment, then hauled Stone to his feet and slung the mage’s arm around his neck. “Come on, let’s get back home. And then you’re gonna tell me what the hell all of that stuff up by the tree was about, right?”

  Stone nodded, but didn’t speak. Despite his confident words, Lopez’s actions had spooked him. He’d have to keep a closer eye on the cop from now on. Just because the thing had failed once didn’t mean it wouldn’t try again.

  He let Lopez drag him back to the truck and help him into the passenger seat, and spent most of the trip back to Lopez’s house leaning against the window with his eyes closed and his head bowed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  By the time they got back to Oak View, Stone was starting to feel vaguely human again. He insisted on checking the wards he’d put up around Lopez’s house before they went in, and was pleased to find that, at least as far as he could tell, nobody had tried to gain entry while they were away. He was also pleased to find no sign of green auras hovering around Lopez. He hoped his theory was correct.

  A shower and fresh clothes mostly completed his transformation
back from “half-dead cat” to “tired, sore, but otherwise mostly functional mage.” When he emerged from his room and located Lopez, he found the cop in his office sitting at his home computer. He had the camera connected it to it with a cable and seemed to be waiting for something to finish.

  “I really should get with the times,” Stone said. “I suppose those things are useful in all sorts of ways.”

  Lopez nodded. “Yeah, for sure. They’re getting more advanced every year. Though me, I mostly use mine to do my checkbook and play Solitaire. I just like gadgets.”

  “Please tell me you got something from the camera,” Stone said. He wouldn’t allow himself to hope: he’d been slapped upside the head too many times by Murphy’s Law when he really needed something to go right, and the thought of making another trek up to the site of that malefic little shrine made his skin crawl. He knew they’d probably have to do it eventually, but not today.

  “We’ll know in a minute,” Lopez said. “They’re downloading.” As if on cue, a little bell went off from the computer. “There we go.” He hit a key and a progress bar began snaking its way across the screen.

  “I must say,” Stone said, pulling up another chair to take his place next to Lopez, “You’re dealing with this whole business rather more calmly than I would have expected.”

  Lopez let out a long sigh. “You wouldn’t say that if you could read my mind. Inside, I’m pretty much a little quivering ball of ‘what the fuck just happened to me?’” He shrugged. “But you know, one of the things you learn in my line of work is that you have to roll with things, or you go crazy in a hurry. I’ve seen some pretty damn weird situations as a cop over the years. This is just another one in the series.” He glanced up. “Okay, so this one’s weirder than all the rest of them combined, but still. What good’s it gonna do you or me or Jason if I lose it and can’t be useful?”

  Stone nodded. He could see why Jason respected this man so highly.

  The progress bar went away, and a list of files popped up. “Okay, let’s have a look,” Lopez said, clicking on the first one in the list. “Fingers crossed.”

  For once, Murphy must have been on vacation. The first digital photo, of the leftmost of the three stone tablets, was perfect: well-lit and in focus, it showed the strange writing clearly. Stone hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until now. He let it out. “Very nice,” he said, nodding. “Well done.”

  They examined the rest of the photos in turn: there were twelve in total, and only three were unusable, probably blurred when Lopez had moved around while taking the picture. As it was, they had at least two clear shots of each of the tablets, and a couple that showed the whole tableau. Lopez grinned. “Not bad for being taken while scared shitless. I’ll print these out for you.” He stabbed a couple of keys and several minutes later handed Stone a stack of sheets with the images reproduced in neat grayscale. The mage spread them out on Lopez’s desk and together they studied them.

  “So—what the hell are we looking at here?” Lopez asked, squinting at the tiny pictographs on the black tablets.

  “I have no idea,” Stone said. “This isn’t any sort of magical script I’ve ever seen before, and I’m not getting the uneasy feeling from the photos that I got from looking at the real thing. I was hoping it might look familiar to you.”

  Lopez shrugged. “It looks pretty old. If I had to make a totally wild-assed guess, I’d say maybe it’s something from the Chumash. They were the local tribe that settled the area a long time ago. See the feathers and the beads? That looks kind of Indian, doesn’t it?”

  “How should I know?” Stone asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the American.”

  Lopez gave him an indignant grin. “Hey, man, my people came from Mexico. And anyway, I spent the whole unit on the local Indians looking out the window and waiting for recess.”

  Stone chuckled. He studied another photo. “Is there anyone around here who might be able to give us more information?”

  “Well, there’s a museum in Ojai.” Lopez glanced at the clock. “They might still be open, if you want to go today. Maybe somebody there knows, or can point us at somebody who does.”

  The museum, located downtown, was built in the same Spanish architectural style as the Arcade farther down Ojai Avenue. The main gallery area, featuring a series of photos and artifacts from the early days of the town, was empty as they entered save for a young woman wearing a name tag that read Marcy—Guide. “Welcome to the museum,” she said with a smile.

  “Thanks,” Lopez said. Stone had suggested he do the talking, at least to start. “Kinda empty around here today.”

  She nodded ruefully. “It is. We were supposed to have a Cub Scout group this afternoon, but they canceled. Everybody’s been a little nervous lately, what with—what’s been happening.” She glanced at Stone and her expression clouded, like she was trying to put something together in her mind.

  Lopez quickly filled the silence. “Yeah, I can imagine. Hey, we were wondering if you could help us, though. We’ve got a little…project we were hoping somebody around here could shed some light on. Do you have anybody around who’s familiar with old languages and cave paintings and that kind of thing?”

  “Um—well, there’s our director, Mr. Wheeler,” she said.

  “Is he here?”

  “I think so, but he might be in a meeting right now—”

  Lopez pulled out his badge wallet and flashed it. “We’d really appreciate it if he could spare us a few minutes,” he said.

  “Oh. Uh—of course. Just one moment, officer.” With another sideways glance at Stone, she hurried out.

  “I think we made the right choice,” Stone murmured. “As soon as I open my mouth they’re going to know who I am.”

  “Don’t worry about it. The badge can get us past a lot of potential problems. And besides, this is relevant to an investigation, so we’re not even lying to anybody.”

  A few moments later the young woman came back out and ushered them down a hall and into a cozily cluttered office. The man who sat behind the desk was about sixty, with thinning snow-white hair, a luxuriant mustache, and a weathered, tanned face. He smiled and motioned them to sit. “Welcome,” he said. “Marcy said you had some questions for me. You’re police officers?”

  “I am,” Lopez said, showing his badge. “This is Dr. Stone. He’s the one with the questions.”

  “I’ll do what I can to help, of course,” Wheeler said.

  “Thank you,” Stone said. He opened the old briefcase Lopez had found and pulled out the sheaf of printouts. “What we’re interested in is anything you might know about these. Who produced them, how old they might be, or anything else you think might be relevant.”

  Wheeler took the printouts, pulling a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket. He looked at the first one and Stone, watching him closely, saw him stiffen. “Where did you get these?” he asked, looking over the tops of his glasses at Stone.

  Lopez answered. “That’s not something we can discuss at this time, Mr. Wheeler.” Stone didn’t smile, but he wanted to. Lopez had been right: sometimes the badge did cut through a lot of difficulty. “Is there anything you can tell us?”

  Wheeler returned his attention to the pages, studying each for several seconds before slipping them one after the other to the back of the stack. When he got to the end, he put them down. “I—don’t know what to say.”

  Stone and Lopez both watched him silently, waiting.

  He took a deep breath, shoving his glasses up to the top of his head. “I don’t know where you got these, but I do hope that you’ll be able to reveal their location when your investigation is complete. If these photos are genuine, they represent a significant find.”

  “What sort of find, Mr. Wheeler?” Stone asked. “Do you know who produced them?”

  Wheeler took another breath, carefully considerin
g his words. “That’s the odd part.” He put his glasses back on and shuffled through the stack, pulling out the best image of each of the three tablets. “This writing was obviously produced by the Chumash. It’s consistent with the other examples of their written work.”

  “Why is that odd?” Stone asked. “Aren’t they the major indigenous tribe for this area?”

  “Yes, but—” he paused, his brow furrowing, and waved his hand over the images. “—this is all wrong for the Chumash. This looks positively—well—sinister. With the skulls and—are these human bones?” he asked as if he’d just noticed them.

  “They’re some kind of bones,” Lopez said. “We didn’t get a close enough look at them to tell if they were human, but I’m guessing since they were piled up under human skulls…” he let that trail off.

  “You must contact the Native American authorities about this,” Wheeler said. “This doesn’t look like any Chumash burial site I’ve ever heard tell of, but if there are human bones there—”

  “We will,” Lopez assured him. “As soon as our investigation is complete. But for now, we need whatever answers you can give us.”

  “Can you read the writing?” Stone asked. “Do you have any idea what it’s referring to?”

  Wheeler shook his head. “I’m not familiar with the Chumash language, beyond a few words and being able to recognize it in written form. We have a few examples here at the museum, but mostly they’re photographs of paintings on cave walls. I’ve never seen stone tablets like these.” He peered at the pictures again. “This almost looks like some sort of shrine.”

  “That’s what we thought too,” Lopez said. “So if you can’t read it, do you know of anyone who can?”

  Wheeler thought about it, then nodded. “Let’s see. I knew a couple who might, if anyone could. Unfortunately, one of them passed away last year, so she won’t be able to help you. Sad, since she was one of the last known descendants of the Chumash in this area. The other is a retired anthropology professor from UC Santa Barbara named—uh—” he paused to leaf through a Rolodex on his desk “—ah! Here it is! His name is Dr. Matthew Garcia. He lives in Ventura now—I could give him a call for you if you like. I’m sure he’d be very interested in what you’ve got here.”