by R. L. King
Stone rubbed his neck and took another long sip of coffee. It was strong stuff, but even it wasn’t waking him up. He really needed to get some sleep soon. “I—can’t say at this point. I’d need to do a lot more study. I’d like to get a closer look at those books and papers on the shelves—though I don’t think they’ll tell me anything useful.”
“Why not?”
“It’s possible whoever owned that stuff hid something among the stacks, but everything I saw was—boring. Normal.”
“As boring and normal as magic gets, anyway,” Blum said dryly.
“Well, yes. But the point is, I didn’t see anything malevolent—not in the items on the shelves, not in the shield, not anywhere.”
“What about that thing Timmons found in the chest? That chess piece-lookin’ thing?”
“That’s something I’d definitely like to get a closer look at.” He set the cup down. “Do you think you could manage that? You said you wanted to help—that’s something you could do. It would also be helpful to get a look at the scene of Ralph’s murders, but I’m guessing that might be more difficult.”
Blum looked uncomfortable. “I can probably get you some time with the item, since that’s directly related to the case we called you in about. Ralph—probably not, though. Not unless you can come up with a plausible reason why the two might be connected.”
“Yes. That’s the sticky part, isn’t it?” Stone finished his coffee. “I’m convinced they’ve got to be, but I’ve got no way to prove it—not even magically. Not yet, anyway. Listen, Mr. Blum—I hate to cut this short, but I’m afraid if I don’t head home soon, I’ll be too tired to drive. Let me leave you my contact numbers, and you give me yours. Call me tomorrow if you can get me a look at that figure, or if you find Ralph. I’d very much like to take a look at him to see if there’s anything odd around his aura.”
Blum looked like he was going to say something.
“What?”
“Well—I was thinkin’…do you think you might be able to find Ralph? If he’s out there murderin’ people, we need to catch him ASAP. If I could get you something of his—”
Ah, so Blum did know about magic, at least enough that he could suggest a location ritual. Stone let his breath out. “I…could,” he said at last. “But not tonight. As I said, I’m shattered right now. Far too tired to do delicate magic like that.” What he didn’t say—but was weighing even more heavily on his mind—was that such a ritual would drain quite a bit of his remaining store of power, hastening his need to acquire more.
Blum looked disappointed, but nodded. “Yeah, you do look pretty tired. Maybe tomorrow, if we don’t find him by then?”
“We’ll see. Get me something of his and call me tomorrow. I might be able to do it tomorrow evening, but no sooner. And if nothing else, a photo of that item would be useful.”
“Okay. I can do that. And—well, if you could keep it quiet that we’re talkin’, I’d really appreciate it. I got a rep to maintain as a skeptic.”
“Not a problem.” Stone stood and tossed some cash on the table. “Believe me, Mr. Blum—having someone on the police force who doesn’t think I’m a nutter is quite nice, even if we do have to keep our little chats to ourselves.”
He was about to leave when Blum called, “Doc?”
“Yes?”
Blum’s brow was furrowed, his features wreathed in confusion. “Somethin’ just occurred to me.”
“What is it?”
“Well…you said that circle was designed to steer people away from the chest, right?”
“Yes, that’s what it looked like.”
“Then how come Frank and Ralph were able to see it, and even open it, from the look of things? Wouldn’t it have done the same thing to them?”
Stone had been half-turned, ready to answer Blum’s question quickly so he could get out of there, but that stopped him. Slowly, he turned back around. “That is a damned good question, Detective.”
6
By the time Stone got to his eleven o’clock class the next day, he was feeling closer to human than he had in the last couple of weeks.
He’d made it home from San Francisco without nodding off behind the wheel—which had been by no means certain—at a little after ten o’clock, and had fallen into bed shortly thereafter. He felt a bit guilty about blowing off his work at Caventhorne, but by now most of it was on Eddie and Ward anyway. They could sort through musty old tomes without him for a day or two.
He’d been afraid his spinning thoughts, now with the storage-locker murder added to everything else he’d been dealing with, would prevent him from getting to sleep or disturb his dreams, but apparently he’d been more exhausted than he thought because if he had any dreams, he didn’t remember them. He’d slept clear through until after nine the next morning, and had to scramble a bit to get up to campus on time for his class.
He delivered the lecture on autopilot, answered a few students’ questions, then headed back to his office with a take-out panini he’d grabbed from Olives. With the door closed, he wolfed it down while listening to his voicemail messages.
Most of them were the usual—students wanting to set up meetings, questions from a couple of the teaching assistants who’d been filling in for Edwina Mortenson—but Stone sat up from his slump when he heard the voice of Beatrice Martinez, head of the Cultural Anthropology department. Martinez hardly ever called him directly, and when she did, it was usually important.
“Dr. Stone,” she said through the speaker, “I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you. Can you come to my office tomorrow at one o’clock? Please let me know if that time won’t work for you. Thanks.”
Stone narrowed his eyes, staring at the phone. Not only was the department head calling, but she wanted to see him in her office? They couldn’t just settle whatever it was on the phone?
He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He didn’t have time to deal with this departmental bureaucracy right now. As much as he disliked it normally, he had far too much on his plate to do the diplomatic two-step to make sure he wasn’t ruffling any over-sensitive feathers. If somebody had complained about him and his irreverent, sarcastic manner, they’d just have to get over it. He’d turn on the charm later when he had more mental bandwidth.
He picked up the phone and left a message with Martinez’s admin, confirming the appointment, noted it on his desk calendar, and promptly put it out of his mind.
He had more important things to deal with right now—things he didn’t want to think about, but that didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t put this off any longer.
He didn’t make an appointment at his next stop, partly because he wasn’t entirely ready to commit to what he was planning to do. It was much easier to treat it as if it weren’t a problem, and that he was simply dropping by a friend’s place to discuss it. Like the weather.
Yes, that was it. The rain last week was refreshing. And I need to talk about the best way to drain energy from other humans so I can power my magic.
There were several possible people he might have sought out for advice regarding his current situation. He’d considered each one in turn and come to the reluctant conclusion that there was truly only one choice, which was why he was parking his car in front of Stefan Kolinsky’s shop in East Palo Alto.
Madame Huan had been one option, but Stone had quickly crossed her off the list. Even if she hadn’t been off in China on another of her lengthy materials-gathering trips, she didn’t strike him as the right person to ask for tips about how to cope with being a black mage. While she might actually have some useful suggestions, he was sure she had no experience with the realities of the situation. Plus, he couldn’t handle the thought that she might look at him in disappointment for what he’d become.
His next thought had been Matthew Caldwell, a relatively benign black mage and alchemist he’d met last year. The High Priest of an organization called the Church of the Rising Dawn, he gained his power through “church
rituals” with the permission of the congregants—as least as much as they could give when they had no idea he was using actual magic. Stone didn’t entirely approve of Caldwell’s methods even though he acknowledged the man was doing nothing wrong, but Caldwell had obviously found an acceptable and sustainable way to deal with replenishing his power. Most importantly, he’d found a way that didn’t require him to do any lasting harm to anyone else.
Stone had eliminated Caldwell as well, though—ever since the business with Tabby Wells and Deirdre a little over a year ago, the man had made it clear that he had no further interest in working with, or even speaking to, Stone. In fact, he’d left the area a few months after the events, and Stone wasn’t sure where he’d ended up.
That left Kolinsky, and a lot of potential problems—but also, potentially, his best shot at getting some solid advice. He still didn’t entirely trust the black mage, but Kolinsky had never been anything but open and upfront with him about his status. He’d never exhibited anything resembling guilt, shame, or regret about the dark status of his magic. Stone didn’t know if he’d ever killed anyone for power, but their talk last year when he’d asked Kolinsky’s opinion about Caldwell had led him to believe that he had nonlethal ways to keep his energy topped up.
The shop’s door was unlocked—something he wasn’t sure he was relieved about. Just get on with it, he told himself. You don’t have too many other options. Before he could overthink things any longer, he hurried down the stairs and pushed open the other door at the foot.
Stefan Kolinsky wasn’t in his usual place at his antique roll-top desk near the back of the shop. Instead, he stood at one of the counters. A velvet cloth spread out in front of him contained some strange-looking object Stone couldn’t identify from where he stood. “Good afternoon, Alastair,” he said without looking up. “I am surprised, but pleased as always, to see you.”
“Hello, Stefan. How are you?”
Kolinsky raised his head from what he was doing, plucking a jeweler’s loupe from his right eye and setting it down next to the object on the cloth. “I am well, thank you. I’ve just received this fascinating new acquisition, and I am giving it a detailed examination.” He folded the cloth around the object and put it back in the case. “But I am sure you are not here to discuss my acquisitions. How may I be of assistance?”
Stone took a couple of centering breaths. No matter how he played it, this wasn’t going to be easy. Every other time he’d interacted with Kolinsky, it had been on a sort of quid pro quo basis—one of them would provide useful information or assistance, in exchange for some equally valuable consideration from the other. Often, Stone would ‘pay’ for such favors or assistance by reinforcing Kolinsky’s powerful wards, but he could no longer do that. As a black mage now, he was in the same boat as Kolinsky—he could still build potent wards, but without white magic to increase their duration, they would fade as quickly as those Kolinsky could produce himself.
Kolinsky tilted his head. “You are disturbed about something. Please, sit down.” He waved a hand and a wooden chair scooted over and settled in the center of the room.
Stone dropped into it with a sigh. Kolinsky was one of the few mages he knew who could examine another person’s aura without the telltale ‘fuzzed-out’ look most of them got when using magical sight. It was a skill even he himself had not fully mastered. “Yes. I’m disturbed about a lot of things, actually.”
“I heard about the death of your master, Mr. Desmond. I offer my condolences.”
It didn’t surprise Stone that Kolinsky had heard about Desmond—Kolinsky made it a point to hear about most things in the magical world, so no doubt his spider’s web of contacts had informed him. “Yes. Thank you. I should have told you myself, but I’ve been rather busy over the past few months.”
“Think nothing of it. I understand. I have heard a rumor that Mr. Desmond’s residence in Hertfordshire is being converted into a library and resource center. Is that true?”
Kolinsky did have a good information network. “Yes. In fact, that’s part of what I’ve been busy with. He left me the task of handling the conversion. I delegated most of it to some associates, but he had some tricky wards I had to sort out.”
“Indeed. I shall have to take a look when it is finished. Assuming, of course, that I am welcome.”
“Of course. The plan is to make it available to everyone in the magical community. I’m sure you’ll find some of the reference material of interest. Desmond’s collection was quite extensive—even the parts of it I’m releasing for consumption.”
“Oh?” Kolinsky’s eyebrow crept upward.
“He didn’t just leave me the task of administering the house—he also left his entire magical collection to me specifically. So that’s part of what I’ve been doing as well: deciding which bits to release to the general library and which to add to my personal collection.”
“I see.”
Stone tilted his head, seeing an opportunity. Perhaps he did have more to offer Kolinsky than ward service. He leaped in before he could change his mind. “But that’s not why I’m here, Stefan. I—I need your help with something. Or at least your advice.”
“Of course. Depending on the extent, our standard arrangement will likely suffice. My wards have begun to lose potency.”
“Yes…er.” Stone forced himself not to shift uncomfortably in the chair, but he was sure his aura was giving him away. “That’s the thing. We’ll need to make a different arrangement. That’s what I need your help with.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve gone black, Stefan.” There. It was out. He couldn’t take it back now.
For a moment, it appeared Kolinsky hadn’t heard him correctly. Then not just one but both of his eyebrows rose. For him, that was the equivalent of an open-mouthed gape of shock. “Indeed.”
Stone nodded. “I’m not going to discuss the circumstances, so please respect my privacy on that and don’t ask. I don’t regret what I did. It’s done, it had to be done, and now I’ve got to learn to deal with it. And since you’re the most knowledgeable black mage I personally know…well, here I am.”
Kolinsky fixed a probing gaze on him for several seconds. “You are aware that there are ways to…recover from such things, if you should desire it.”
“No. There aren’t.” Now that he’d spilled the hardest part of his admission, Stone felt as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He chuckled bitterly. “I never do things halfway, Stefan. You know that.”
“You are saying that you—”
“Ashed someone. Yes. Another mage, in fact. A powerful one.”
“Indeed,” Kolinsky said again. No judgment showed in his obsidian-black eyes.
“It was necessary—self-defense. As I said, I don’t regret it. But there’s no going back now. I’ve changed teams, and…well, frankly, I’ve not much idea of how to proceed from here. I—” He rubbed his neck and dropped his gaze. “It felt good, Stefan. And that scares the hell out of me. After it happened, I felt like I could do anything I wanted, with no limitations, no weakness, no worrying about conserving power. And now…”
“You are afraid you will be tempted to do it again.” Kolinsky nodded, expressionless. “It is something to consider, without a doubt. Have you drawn power again since the first time?”
“No. What I got has kept me going since then. It was a lot of power, and I’ve been careful with how I’ve used it.” He got up and began pacing the room. “I don’t want to give up on magic—I can’t. I’ve still got Verity’s training to finish, and just last night the police called me about a crime up in San Francisco that has supernatural involvement. But—yes. I’m afraid if I take power again, I’ll be tempted to go too far. That, and…” he trailed off.
“And—?”
“And…I can’t bring myself to steal it from anyone without their consent. If I do it, I want them to know what they’re getting into, what they’re agreeing to. And what they’re risking. Verity offered, of course, b
ut I turned her down. She needs her power for her own magic.”
“So, you are asking my advice on how you might procure power from consenting donors.”
“Yes. Consenting and—aware. And I want to know how I can be sure I won’t kill someone else if the sensations overcome my good sense and I give in to temptation.”
Kolinsky pondered. “That second part, I cannot help you with. That is all on you, and on the strength of your will. It can be particularly problematic for those who have killed before. In truth, not many black mages have gone so far. They never become familiar with the sensations involved, so the temptation is not so strong. I will tell you this: you can always stop it. It will never reach a point where you are physically unable to prevent yourself from killing an energy donor.”
“Brilliant—so that means if I do it, it is my fault. I won’t be able to rationalize it by saying I lost control.”
“No, you won’t. But I do not think it will be a problem for you. You aren’t a killer by nature, Alastair. You said your previous circumstances were self-defense?”
“Yes. If I hadn’t done it, at least one innocent life would have been at stake. Possibly more.”
Kolinsky spread his hands in a there you go gesture. “The sensations are…compelling. I won’t deny it.”
“Then you’ve…done it? You know?”
“I know. But I will not discuss my own situation. We are talking about yours.” He leaned back in his chair. “As I said, the sensations are compelling, but I believe your will and your reluctance to kill are strong enough that you won’t have to concern yourself with it. At least not unless you are put into another situation where lives are in danger.”
“That’s…comforting, I suppose. I hope you’re right.”
“You will see, when you have obtained power without killing.”
“Yes, well…that brings us back to my original question, doesn’t it? How do I do that?”
“And that,” Kolinsky said, “also brings us back to the terms of whatever arrangement we might make.”
