by R. L. King
“Yeah. Tracking, old-fashioned detective work, sneaking around—those we’re good at. But not anything magical.”
“Right, then. I suggest you go out and look for her while I finish up the tracking ritual. Leave someone here with me, but take Verity with you. Check places she’s likely to be. And I’ll need something of hers for the ritual—the more emotionally significant, the better.”
Lara opened her bag and pulled out a necklace on a thin gold chain. “This is hers. I picked it up when we went to her place. I’ve got one just like it.”
Stone took it. “I’ll have to destroy it for the ritual,” he said gently.
“That’s okay. I gave it to her. If it helps find her, then I’ll give her a better one.”
“Fair enough. Excuse us a moment.” He motioned Verity over by the window for a brief conference. “Go with them, and call me if you find her.”
“Do you think we will?”
“Honestly, no. But I hope I’m wrong. If you do find her, be careful trying to get her to come with you. If the piece is already influencing her, she won’t want to, and she could be dangerous.”
“What if she’s…I dunno…getting ready to shoot up a crowd or something?”
He gripped her upper arm. “You’re a bloody good mage, Verity, and good at thinking on your feet. I’m confident you’ll be able to deal with her. Try to do it without drawing too much attention, though—for your sake and hers. I’ll call you once I’ve finished the ritual—if nothing else, I hope we’ll find her that way.”
“You got it, Doc.” She hurried back to the group. “Let’s go.”
Kyla left Greta with Stone. He didn’t like the choice, since the blonde woman had taken an obvious dislike to him, but it made sense—her role in the group was muscle and intimidation, not tracking. When the others had headed out, she watched him, silent and unsmiling, from her spot on the sofa.
“Care to give me a hand?” Stone asked. “We need to get this furniture out of the way.”
“Not really.”
“Your choice,” he said with a shrug. Extending his arms in two different directions, he lifted both the sofas, including the one Greta sat on, and levitated them to the walls.
“Fuckin’ showoff,” she muttered without moving.
Stone ignored her, continuing his work until he’d cleared out an open space in the middle of the floor. Then he opened his bag and began constructing the circle.
Greta remained silent until he finished, but the couple times he glanced in her direction he saw she was watching him closely. “All right,” he said, rising from his crouch to study his finished work. “I don’t know if you know anything about circles—”
When she didn’t reply, he continued. “—but I need you to stay out of this one while I’m working. Got it?”
“I’m not comin’ anywhere near your circle,” she growled with distaste. “Or you.”
“Look—I don’t know what your problem with me is, and I don’t really care. But if you want to find your friend’s cousin before she does something she’ll regret later, I need to trust you to stay out of my circle while I’m working.”
“I told you, I won’t touch your damn circle,” she snapped. “Just do whatever you’re doin’ and stay the hell away from me.”
He regarded her for a moment, trying to decide whether he could trust her. The time-zone shuffle was catching up with him again, and the last thing he needed was a bad case of psychic feedback if she decided to mess with him while he was working. “All right,” he said at last. “This shouldn’t take long.”
He pulled the white figurine from his pocket and set it on a nearby table where he could keep an eye on it, then settled into the center of the circle and placed the necklace on the floor in front of him. Gathering his concentration, he set to work.
At first, he thought the ritual was going to succeed. The tendril snaked from the necklace and disappeared up through the ceiling, then took off to the northeast. Good—that meant she was still alive, at least. Trying not to think of what had happened when he’d tried to track Ralph Gallegos, he kept a close watch on the bright tendril, following as it continued wending its way in a generally northeasterly direction. It appeared that Iris was moving, and not slowly enough to be walking. Driving, perhaps. He couldn’t tell yet if she was still somewhere in San Francisco, but judging from the brightness of the tendril, if she wasn’t here she was still close.
He picked up speed a bit, trying to catch up so he could get a look at where it ended. It would still be hard to find her if she was moving, but if he could get a solid direction—
The tendril began to fade.
“No…” he muttered, increasing speed again. Why was it fading? Ralph’s tendril had abruptly winked out when he died, but this didn’t look like the same behavior. He sharpened his focus and tried to keep it in sight.
No luck, though. As he watched in frustration, the tendril faded further, almost as if it were mocking him, and disappeared.
Stone let his posture slump, frustrated. At least that time psychic feedback hadn’t accompanied the tendril’s vanishing—that was something, anyway. That most likely meant Iris wasn’t dead. But what could it mean?
“What’s going on?” Greta called from the sofa. “Can’t get the magic up?”
He was about to answer her when, still using magical sight, he happened to glance at the figurine he’d left on the table near the circle.
It was glowing.
42
Stone called Verity as he hurried up the street toward where he’d left the car, Greta jogging along behind him. “The piece has activated,” he told her when she answered. “The tracking ritual failed. Have you found anything yet?”
“No. Traffic’s terrible—we’re at her place now. I looked through her room with magical sight but didn’t find anything. What do you want us to do?”
“Not sure yet. The trail from the figurine is pointing northeast, but that could mean anything at this point.”
“Do you want to meet up, or do you want us to keep looking?”
He let out a frustrated sigh. The traffic in San Francisco on a Saturday evening was hellacious, which meant trying to coordinate any kind of rendezvous when he had no idea where they were going would be nearly impossible. “Head that way. I’ll give you more information once I get a better idea where we’re trying to go.” He wished the figurine’s tracking function worked like his own ritual, pinpointing the target’s location, but he supposed that would make the game too easy. He picked up his pace as he and Greta drew closer to the BMW. “Got to go now—I’ll call back soon. I have to call Detective Blum about this.”
A strong hand clamped onto his wrist as he put the phone away and pulled out his key. He spun to see Greta glowering at him. “What?”
“You’re not callin’ any detectives. No cops.”
He tried to yank his arm free of her grasp, but she held fast. “Let go,” he ordered.
“No cops,” she repeated.
“Look—a lot of people could be in danger. These figurines don’t play around, especially not this late in the game. She could be planning some kind of mass shooting.”
“No—you look.” She let go of his arm but remained close to him. “Iris hasn’t done anything yet. If you bring the cops in, they won’t get it. They’ll haul her in. She’s got enough shit in her life already without goin’ to jail over something that isn’t even her fault.”
Surprisingly, he noticed her expression had changed—less intimidation, more pleading. “Blum gets it,” he told her. “He knows about magic. He knows about the figurines and what they can do.”
“But it won’t just be him, will it?” Greta demanded. “He’ll have to call in backup. He’s a cop—he’s got to follow procedure.”
“Greta—” This was getting them nowhere, and he didn’t know how much time they had before Iris’s theoretical crime would become an actual crime and there’d be nothing they could do to prevent her fate.
<
br /> Finally he let his breath out in a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Okay. We’ve probably still got a while, and I can track her now. I’ll give it an hour—but if we haven’t found her by then, I’m going to have to call Blum in. I’m sorry about your friend, but do you really want it on your conscience if she ends up killing people because you were trying to protect her? You do have a conscience, right?”
She glared hard at him, then backed off. “Yeah. I have a conscience. Okay—one hour. Let’s get goin’.”
He looked at the figurine, then at the BMW. He didn’t like what he’d have to do next, but there was no helping it. “Can you drive?”
“What kind of stupid question is that? Sure I can drive.”
“Are you any good at it?”
“Used to street-race when I was a kid.”
“Brilliant.” He tossed her the key. “I have to keep my attention on tracking this thing, so you’ll have to drive. Don’t run into anything, all right? I’m fond of this car.”
“Get in. Time’s wasting.”
Once they got out onto Castro the traffic moved at a crawl. Stone pulled his phone out while maintaining magical sight on the figurine and called Verity again. “Any luck?”
“Not yet. I’m with Kyla and Lara, and we’re stuck in traffic. Any better idea where we’re going?”
“All I’m getting right now is vaguely north. Nothing definitive yet. We’re stuck too. Just keep heading in that direction. If that changes I’ll let you know.” He settled back, watching the thread. “Tell me about Iris,” he said to Greta. “Do you know her?”
“Sure I do.” Greta’s tone sounded like she thought he was slow. “She’s Lara’s cousin. They’re really close.”
“Okay—tell me about her. Anything you can think of.”
It seemed as if Greta might object, but then she shrugged. “She’s twenty-eight. Was in the Army for four years, trained as a sniper.”
“Honorably discharged?”
“Yeah, of course.” A little warning seeped into her voice as she shot a glare in Stone’s direction, but then turned her attention back to the road. “She had some…issues. Medical discharge.”
“Medical?”
“Psychological.”
“I see.”
“Yeah, I know. You don’t care.”
“I do care. I told you—the more you can tell me about her, the more likely I might be able to figure out where she’s going. Any idea what happened?”
Greta didn’t answer.
“Greta?”
“She got raped, okay?” she snapped. “Guy in her unit. Outranked her. She was just a kid back then, and he intimidated her into not reporting it, but it messed with her head. She got pregnant and tried to deal with it herself so she wouldn’t get kicked out, but they found out.”
Stone bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well so was she. Fuckin’ men are all alike, if y’ask me.”
He watched the bright thread snaking out from the figurine. “Turn right here,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for what your friend had to go through. I won’t say anything trite like ‘we’re not all like that.’ It doesn’t matter, does it?”
She flicked a quick glance in his direction. “No. Not a damn bit.”
“Let’s find her so she doesn’t have to go through anything else, shall we?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s find her.”
Verity called again twenty minutes later. “Anything? We’ve gotten a little farther, but we still don’t know where we’re going.”
“Not a bloody thing,” Stone told her, frustrated. They were still picking their way northward in the general direction the thread pointed; Greta had helped some by taking side streets, but there were too many people and cars on the streets to let them move anything like fast. “I think she’s moving more slowly now—the thread hasn’t changed much.”
“Yeah, but if we don’t find her soon—”
“I know, Verity. I know. I’ll call you back.”
He slumped back in his seat, his frustration growing. He could get out and run faster than the damned car was moving, and all the while an innocent woman was growing closer to doing something that would not only shatter her own life, but others as well.
He thought again about calling Blum, despite his promise to Greta, but reluctantly admitted it wouldn’t likely do any good. If the figurine was helping to conceal Iris from mundane eyes, the police would never have a chance of finding her. Even if they did, the figurine’s magic wouldn’t let her give up, so they’d probably have to end up killing her.
So much for having a day to find her, he thought bitterly, and wondered if perhaps the window for the white piece to act narrowed with each successive turn. So many variables, since he was only guessing at the rules of the game.
He thought about the previous rounds. The rapist had already attacked four other women, and all in the same area. The arsonist had gone after the former employer he felt had wronged him. Bob Pisani, the thief, had stolen from places he’d had connections with before. Were those connections built into the game? Did the figurines’ magic make things easier by using associations the pawns already had in their lives, or by exacerbating existing grudges they might be harboring?
“Let’s think about this,” he said suddenly, startling Greta.
“Don’t do that!” she snapped. Then, in a more even tone: “Think about what?”
“It seems obvious to me that Iris wouldn’t have taken her guns with her if she didn’t intend to shoot someone. Does that seem reasonable to you?”
“Well…yeah. Unless she thinks she needs to protect herself.”
“That would make sense if she took a handgun. But she took a rifle. Given the nature of this game, I don’t think the thing would compel her to go hunting.”
“Not animals, anyway,” Greta agreed. “So?”
“So—I know from the previous attacks that the pawns, the people the figurines are controlling, seem to stay in familiar areas, and sometimes play out old grudges. So we need to know if Iris has any grudges. I’m guessing she’s got one against the military in general, right?”
“Oh, hell yeah. She’s pissed at ’em ’cause nobody believed her.”
“Anything more specific?”
“You’re gonna have to ask Lara about that.”
“Brilliant idea. Keep heading in this direction.” He pulled his phone out again and called Verity back. When she answered, he said without greeting, “Let me talk to Lara.”
“Hang on.”
A brief shuffle, then Lara’s voice came on. “What do you want?”
“I need to know if Iris has any grudges against anyone. Greta was telling me about her military issues, but can you be any more specific?”
“Why?” Suspicion laced her voice.
“Trying to narrow down who she might be after. Think, Lara. This might be important.”
There was a long pause. “She doesn’t like guys,” she said at last.
“That doesn’t narrow it down much, does it?” Stone said dryly. “Anything a bit more specific?”
“She pretty much hates the Army. Not just the guy who did it to her—she believes the whole system is fucked up and didn’t listen to her. And she hates politicians, too. Left, right, doesn’t matter. She thinks they’re all corrupt.”
“Okay…that’s closer. You—”
“Doc?” came Verity’s voice from the background. More shuffles, and she was back on. “I just thought of something. You said before those pieces were kind of associated with their crimes, right? Like the phoenix and arson, and the satyr and rape?”
“Yes—”
“Well…I dunno if this will help, but what about this one? It’s some kind of cat, right? What kind of crime would a cat be connected with?”
Stone was about to say he didn’t know when he remembered what Greta had said a few moments ago. “It’s hunting,” he murmured, looking down at it in his hand.
“What?” Greta
and Verity asked at the same time.
“It’s hunting,” he repeated, with more emphasis. “Cats stalk prey. They hunt it one at a time. This isn’t a mass murder—it’s an assassination. Brilliant thought, Verity!”
“Yeah—but does it help? We still don’t know who she’s hunting.”
Stone’s mental wheels spun fast. “Okay—here’s what I want you to do. The thread is still pointing north. I’m not sure if it will leave the city or not, but it’s heading that way, at least. Get hold of a newspaper events page and see if you can find anything that looks likely. Anything to do with the military, political rallies, anything like that.”
“On it, Doc. I’ll call you back.”
Stone settled back into his seat again, switching his gaze between the figurine’s thread and the view out the window.
“Do you think we’re gonna find her?”
He glanced at Greta, whose attention appeared to be focused on the road ahead. “I…think we’ve got a good chance.”
“Don’t feed me a line, Stone.”
“I’m not.” He held up the figurine. “That’s the whole point of the game—to find the black-piece holder and stop them before they act. This lets me track the other piece, and we’ve got a good head start.”
“What kind of sick game makes people kill each other, anyway?” She snorted. “Sounds just like the kind of thing you mages would be into. Fucking with other people’s lives just for fun.”
Stone refused to let her bait him. “Some would, I suppose. But these things are thousands of years old. I’ve not seen anything like this from modern mages.”
With a sting of regret, he wondered suddenly what he’d find in the box he’d unearthed in his grandfather’s crypt. Would his ancestors have played this kind of game, if they’d had the chance? Had they killed innocent people—or done things that caused them to die, at least, even if they weren’t directly responsible?
Greta made another contemptuous snort. “Yeah, right.”
Stone was about to snap a reply when he glanced down again at the figurine. “Turn right. It seems to be angling toward the east.” Without waiting for an answer, he called Verity again and relayed the information.
