Circle of Stone

by R. L. King

  The circle was barely a quarter finished; he’d forgotten (or perhaps blocked it from his memory) the level of precision and amount of effort it would require. “Why do you need your own bloody portal anyway?” he muttered. It was true: if he needed to use a portal, all he’d have to do was drive the ten or so miles down to Sunnyvale and use the one at A Passage to India. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have access to it whenever he wanted, even when the restaurant was closed.

  He stalked across the room and snatched up one of the sheets of calculations, hurrying over to compare it to the whiteboard, then crumpled it and hurled it into a corner, where it joined a similar, and growing, pile.

  He could do this—he knew he could. And he wanted to. He’d been wanting his own portal in the United States ever since he’d moved here, and there was no reason he shouldn’t have one.

  But perhaps not tonight.

  He glanced at his watch: already after two a.m. He should be getting to bed—or at least spending his time on more productive pursuits, like preparing for the start of the fall quarter at the University. He’d lasted this long without his own portal. He could manage a while longer.

  He was about to leave the room when a sudden brainwave struck him. He dashed back to the whiteboard, rubbed out an entire section, and began scribbling furiously. This was the fourth time this had happened tonight, and the reason why he was up here so late.

  Yes…that’s it! That’s got to be—

  In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

  The insight fled from his mind.

  “Bugger!” This had better be important. Who would be calling him at two-thirty in the bloody morning? “Yes, hello?”

  “Hello, sir. I’m terribly sorry to wake you.”

  Aubrey. Of course. It was after ten a.m. in England, but by now the caretaker of his Surrey house should have been aware of time-zone differences. “Er—you didn’t wake me. But why are you calling now? Is something wrong?”

  The line crackled with the faintest of pauses. “Not…wrong, sir. Not per se. But I got an odd telephone call at the house this morning, and I promised to pass it along to you as soon as possible.”

  Stone tensed. “Odd” in his line of work could cover a lot of territory, especially with what had been going on at the house over the past few months. “What kind of odd?”

  “Well—a gentleman called, and said he’d very much like to speak with you at your earliest convenience. He was dismayed when I told him you weren’t in residence, and seemed quite…well, upset in general.”

  Stone paced the space, carefully avoiding the circle. “Did he say what his name was?”

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t recognize it, though. He said he knew you a long time ago. His name is Roderick Selby.”

  “Bloody hell! What does he want?” Stone wasn’t surprised Aubrey didn’t remember Selby—if he’d told the caretaker about him at all, it would have been back during his apprenticeship. He hadn’t mentioned their brief conversation at the gathering following William Desmond’s funeral.

  “He wouldn’t say, sir. But he asked me to convey to you that he would be most grateful if you’d speak with him, and that it’s a matter of considerable urgency on his part. He—sounded a bit like he was begging, sir. Either he’s a superb actor, or he’s quite bothered about something.”

  “Er—” Stone glanced at the circle again. He had a lot of work to do here, not to mention how much of his course preparation he’d been putting off. But still…

  “All right. Did he leave you a number?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stone scribbled it on a corner of one of his calculation papers. “Thanks, Aubrey. I’ll give him a call and see what he wants.”

  He looked at the number for a while after he hung up, debating whether to call now or get some sleep first. But even as he did, he knew it couldn’t wait. His curiosity wouldn’t allow him to sleep anyway. He dropped into a chair and punched in the number.

  It was answered on the first ring. “Hello?” The voice on the other end was familiar, wary, and a bit breathless.

  “Selby? Alastair Stone. I got a message that you wanted to talk to me. What’s this about?”

  “Dr. Stone. Thank you so much for ringing me back so quickly. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”

  “Nothing important. What can I do for you?”

  Another long pause.

  “Selby?”

  “I—” His next words came out in a rush. “I’ve gotten myself into a terrible difficulty, Dr. Stone, and I couldn’t think of anyone else to ask for help. If you can’t help me, I’ve no idea who I might turn to.”

  2

  Stone took a careful look around as he entered the dim, shabby little London pub two hours later. He didn’t see Selby right away, but after he ordered a pint from the barman and headed to the back room, he spotted the familiar tall figure slumped into a booth in the far corner.

  He shifted to magical sight, looking the man over. Selby certainly hadn’t been lying about being upset about something. His red-purple aura roiled with disturbance, and Stone knew he didn’t have the magical chops to hide or disguise it.

  Selby didn’t rise when he spotted Stone, but straightened against the scarred wooden seat. A faint tinge of relief colored the agitation in his aura. “Dr. Stone. Thank you so much for coming. I’m so grateful.”

  Stone dropped into the seat across from him. “Well, you’ve got me intrigued, but now I’m here do you want to tell me what this is about? I’ll admit I was a bit reluctant to show up with no information to go on.”

  He studied the man across the table. Selby was only a few years older than he was, but he looked even older now than he had at the St. Albans gathering. His tall, thin figure had a stooped quality that hadn’t been there before, as if he bore an invisible burden. His eyes were sunken, his hair thinning, and his face lined with more creases than Stone remembered. It hadn’t even been two years since they’d seen each other last.

  “I’m sorry about that.” He seemed restless, clasping one hand around a crumpled napkin while toying with a tall glass of iced tea with the other. “I took a risk even ringing you at all. If anyone else found out—” He glanced around. “Could you—check to make sure no one is listening?”

  Stone narrowed his eyes, wondering if Selby hadn’t simply snapped, falling prey to some inexplicable paranoia. The man had always been tightly wound—perhaps something had finally driven him over the edge. Nonetheless, he took a quick look around the back room with magical sight. There were only a few other patrons, mostly men either alone or in groups of two or three, and all their auras appeared placid and unremarkable. “If they are, they’re hiding it well. Listen, Selby—I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got a lot to do today. If you could—”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sorry.” Selby looked even more miserable before, but finally met Stone’s gaze. “Remember before, at the gathering, I mentioned to you that I had a position working for a family in France?”

  “I do. The Loire Valley, if I remember correctly. Does this have to do with them? Is that why you can’t go to them for help?”

  “Indirectly, yes.” Selby began tearing his napkin into strips. “I’ve accumulated considerable time off, and Madame Bertrand has been urging me to make use of some of it. I decided to spend a couple of days in the Paris area.” He balled up the napkin strips and clenched his fist around them. “I’m ashamed even to tell you the story, even though I know I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Just tell me,” Stone said. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Yes. Of course. I spent some time sightseeing, and the evening before I was to return home, I stopped at a sidewalk café and tried to decide what I might do with my last evening there. While I was there, I met a woman. She was very beautiful, and to my surprise she seemed interested in me. She told me she was visiting Paris for a few days as well.”

  Stone didn’t sigh, but it wasn’t easy. He was afraid he alrea
dy knew where this was going, and wondered once again why Selby had called him. Cleaning up after improprieties of that sort was hardly his specialty.

  If Selby noticed his consternation, he didn’t say anything about it. “We shared a couple of drinks, and I invited her join me for dinner. She suggested a little place, and afterward, we went back to her suite.”

  Stone sipped his pint. “So far, I’ve got to admit I don’t see anything to be concerned about. Your employers can hardly expect you not to—”

  “No, that isn’t it.” Selby held up a hand. Both his eyes and his aura looked stricken. “You see, the last thing I remember about that night is getting into a taxi with her. After that, my mind is blank until the following morning, when I awoke in an unfamiliar hotel room.”

  “Bloody hell,” Stone said. “Did she rob you?”

  “No. All of my clothes, my wallet—everything was there with me when I awakened.”

  “Then, what—”

  “Only a few moments after I awoke, my phone rang. It was a man, and I didn’t recognize his voice. He implied that he had...highly incriminating video of me from the previous night, and urged me to meet him at a location in Paris in an hour.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  Selby shook his head miserably. “No. He assured me that if I did, the video would be released, not only to Monsieur and Madame Bertrand, but also to the authorities.”

  “But he didn’t tell you what was in the video? You don’t remember anything about the previous night?”

  “No, and nothing. Everything from when I got into the taxi to when I awoke the next morning is a black box. Believe me, I have tried. I’ve tried so hard my head is pounding.” He selected another napkin and balled it in his fist.

  “All right…So did you go to the meeting?”

  “Yes. I did as instructed, and didn’t tell anyone about it. I was frightened, but more frightened of what they might do if I didn’t obey their demands. The address they gave me was an abandoned flat in a dodgy neighborhood. I waited inside for several minutes, and then a man entered. He wore shapeless clothes and a mask, so I couldn’t make out any of his features.”

  “But you’re sure it was a man? Not the woman you met with?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m quite certain it wasn’t her.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He had a laptop computer with him. He showed me a video.” He dropped the napkin and lowered his face into his hands, rubbing at it. “It was…a terrible thing, Dr. Stone. It clearly showed me and the woman from the previous night, in a bedroom. I assume it was at her suite.”

  Stone frowned. “All right. I mean—that’s not the best thing for the reputation, but it’s hardly the worst. Men and women have sex all the time. Why would you think—”

  “You—you still don’t understand.” Selby’s voice shook. “It wasn’t merely sex. I—attacked her. I forced myself on her. Violently.” He looked as if he might break down, right there at the table. “She—she begged me not to, but I pushed her down on the bed, and…”

  “Bloody hell, Selby.” Stone didn’t know what else to say. Why would Selby bring such a problem to him, or expect him to help with it? Even if the mysterious man were blackmailing him, if he had indeed raped the woman, then—

  Selby raised his head, his gaze miserable and imploring. “I didn’t do it, Dr. Stone. I’m certain of it. Or if I did—they must have done something to me, to make me do it. I would never do such a thing. Never.” His voice trembled with conviction. “Even if I were inclined toward such a horrible thing—which I swear to you I am not—I would never put my position in jeopardy. The Bertrands treat me like a member of the family. To commit such a terrible indiscretion—”

  Stone drew a slow, deep breath. “But you said you don’t remember anything after you got into the taxi. So even if it’s true, it’s your word against theirs.” He finished his pint. “You said they were blackmailing you. What do they want? Money?”

  “Oh, no. I’m not a rich man. The Bertrands provide for all my needs and I have a small savings, but not nearly enough to be of interest to a blackmailer. You probably wonder why I’ve reached out to you, of all people, given that we barely know each other and have never been…close.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind, I’ll admit.”

  He leaned across the table. “As you know, Monsieur Bertrand is a mundane. Madame Bertrand and her daughter, who is away at University, are both magically talented.”

  “Yes, you did mention that.”

  “Their talents are…I would say average. Certainly far stronger than anything I ever possessed even during my time working for Mr. Desmond, but nowhere near comparable to yours. But Madame Bertrand’s mother was highly talented, and one of the things she left her daughter was an antique book of magical techniques and rituals. I saw it once, but Mme. Bertrand normally keeps it locked away in a room.”

  “I…see. Is this book interesting in some way? Valuable?”

  “It wasn’t my place to ask, but the man who contacted me wanted me to take it from the chateau and bring it to him. I’m to contact him when I’ve secured it. He’s given me three days—two now.” He bowed his head again. “He says if I don’t do it, he will release the video to the Bertrands and the authorities.” His jaw tightened, and a single tear glittered in one eye. “I don’t know what to do. I would never do such a thing, but the video was…explicit. If it is released, not only will I lose my position with the Bertrands, but I will likely be arrested.”

  Stone paused, switching to magical sight to examine Selby. Even back in the days of his apprenticeship, the older man had possessed only the barest minimum of magical talent—and if he could be believed last time they’d met at the gathering in St. Albans, he hadn’t kept up with his training since the near-disaster at Caventhorne twenty-five years ago. Essentially, he was living as mundane these days, and had been for years. There was no way he could hide his aura or his emotions from Stone’s scrutiny—and right now, everything Stone observed suggested the man was not only telling the truth as he understood it, but was every bit as agitated as he presented. If any subterfuge existed, Stone didn’t see it.

  “Okay,” he said. “So what’s your plan? Why did you contact me? I assume you’re not planning to nick the tome from the Bertrands, since you could have done that without my help.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw the video, trying to figure out how they might have made me do such a thing. I assume there was magic involved.”

  “Almost certainly. And no doubt the woman was part of the plan.”

  “I fear you must be correct.” He sighed. “I knew it was too good to be true, for such a beautiful woman to be interested in me.”

  Stone didn’t reply.

  “But how did they do it?” Selby seemed to have calmed slightly, perhaps because he sensed Stone might be willing to help him. “I have never heard of mind-control magic. Have you?”

  “Perhaps they drugged you in some way. I’ve seen some alchemical potions with some fairly bizarre effects.”

  “Possibly, I suppose. We did have drinks at dinner. But mine was never out of my sight. And I didn’t seem drugged in the video they showed me. It was quite frightening, how lucid I was.” He swallowed again “If I were the authorities or the Bertrands, I would not believe I wasn’t acting of my own will.”

  Stone started to say something, but once again Selby held up a hand to stop him. “There is one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Selby wore a simple, buttoned shirt. He undid the top two buttons and drew it aside to reveal a set of three red slashes, bright and angry against his pale chest. “In the video, the woman scratched me with her long fingernails as she fought back. Just as I have found here.” He dropped his hand and moaned. “I give you my word—I never would have hurt that woman of my own free will. I’ve been…quite intoxicated on many occasions, but I have never hurt anyone.” He ducked his gaze. “To be com
pletely honest with you, Dr. Stone, my…drive in that regard is not normally strong. The woman in Paris was the first I had experienced any desire for in many years, and even then it was more aesthetic—she was quite lovely—than sexual. If I did this monstrous thing, it had to have been through some external compulsion.”

  As before, Selby’s aura showed no sign of anything but distressed misery. “Okay…” Stone said, turning the problem over in his mind. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Then—you’ll help me?” Selby’s gaze shot up, his expression astonished.

  “For now, yes. But I’ve got to warn you, Selby—if I turn up the truth and you did attack this woman—”

  “If that is the case,” he said quickly, “then I deserve whatever punishment I’m due. I’ll voluntarily turn myself in. But I promise, I—I would never—” Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. “Never…”

  “All right. Calm down. We’ll sort this out, one way or another.” He leaned back and regarded the man. “Did you get any indication that this woman or the man with the video knew you were magically talented?”

  “Er—” Selby looked confused. “Well, obviously they knew about the Bertrands—”

  “Did they? Are you sure? But in any case, that’s not what I mean. Do they know you have magical talent? Did they say anything to indicate they did? Many wealthy magical families have staff members who are aware of the magical world without having any talent of their own. And for that matter, more than one valuable magical artifact has ended up in the hands of mundanes—either because they bought it or it was left to them by relatives they never knew had the Talent.”

  “I…I don’t think they knew about me.” He paused, thinking. “No, I don’t remember either of them saying anything to imply they thought I had magical ability. As I told you in St. Albans, it’s been many years since I’ve given up even attempting to practice the Art.”

  “Good. That will work in our favor. And you’re sure they didn’t say anything to imply they knew which of the Bertrands were magically talented, if they know at all?”