The Infernal Heart

by R. L. King

  “Third career,” Ward pointed out. “In between spell research and teaching university students about vampires and how to chase down ghosts.”

  “Oh, give it a rest,” Stone said, but his sour mood wasn’t directed at them. “Who else is going to do it? The police?” He snorted. “They do their best, but every time they’re confronted with something they don’t understand, they try to fit it into some sort of mundane cubbyhole. They’ll never get near this thing.”

  “So that makes it your job, then, does it?” Eddie asked.

  “I don’t see anyone else lining up to do it.” Stone drained the rest of his pint and signaled for another. “There aren’t that many fully qualified mages where I am, and those who are either aren’t suited for this sort of thing, or they have no desire to do it.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to,” Ward pointed out gently. “I know, I know—you love puzzles. I remember back at University, you could never let any kind of puzzle go, and it’s clear you’ve only gotten worse with age. But…” He spoke his next words with obvious care. “…could this one be different? How will you deal with the guilt if it decides to hurt more people you know?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Arthur.” Stone glared at him. “This thing has a plan. That’s obvious. It’s killing people. It doesn’t look like it plans to stop any time soon. And if our translations can be believed, it’s not planning to stop there. Once it’s got all its bits together so it can have a proper body, there’s the matter of the skin and blood to deal with. Do you think it will take those skin pages and that blood ink and draw up a nice little book about rabbits and clowns and the bloody county fair for its little demon grandchildren?” His tone rose as he spoke, thick with sarcasm and growing anger at this unknown demon that had decided to make this personal.

  “Calm down, mate,” Eddie said, patting his shoulder and glancing around at a few nearby pub-goers who’d looked up in surprise at Stone’s sudden increase in volume. “Come on. It’s okay. We get it.”

  “I don’t think you do,” Stone said, deflating. He gripped his fresh pint so tightly that if he were stronger the glass would shatter under his hand. “I think it’s getting worse.”

  “What’s getting worse?” Eddie asked.

  Stone sighed. “The…other side.” He waved his glass, taking in the pub. It had been one of his favorite haunts back during his days at University—he and Ward had come here dozens of times during their undergraduate years to get drunk, talk about everything and nothing, and get away from the pressures of their mundane studies. The place was hundreds of years old, some of the décor in its dark, cavelike corners dating back almost that long. It was one of the things Stone missed most about home—even the things people considered ‘antique’ in California barely qualified as “comfortably lived-in” to him. He’d mostly gotten over the culture shock in the intervening years, but every now and then it still hit him. Things had been so simple back then.

  “Sorry,” Ward said, tilting his head. “I don’t think I follow.”

  “You wouldn’t. Neither of you would,” Stone said. “You’re scholars, both of you. You research old tomes, study ancient rituals…Tell me,” he said, including both Ward and Eddie with his glance. “When was the last time you actually used magic in a practical sense? I don’t mean to move books around in your library or bring something to you from across the room. I mean—have you ever been up against a genuine magical threat?”

  “Er…” Eddie said. “Well, the spirit that lives in the library gets a bit shirty sometimes and I ’ave to remind it who’s boss. But I s’pose that’s not really what you’re looking for, is it?”

  “I summoned up something a couple years back to help me with some research,” Ward said. “It got away from me a bit, but I dealt with it before it got up to any serious trouble.”

  Stone nodded. “That’s what I mean.” He took another drink. He suspected he’d be doing that a lot tonight. “Back here, that’s about all I did as well. There were a few times—one during my apprenticeship, and a couple when I was doing my graduate work—but nothing too serious. But ever since I took the job in California…I’ve dealt with everything from cannibal ghouls to extradimensional bodysnatchers to ancient Indian vengeance spirits. I never heard about any of this sort of thing before I got there. I’ll admit, I didn’t pay as much attention to what was going on in America before I actually lived there, but—” He spread his hands.

  “Are you sayin’ you think you’re causing these problems somehow?” Eddie asked.

  Stone shook his head. “No, no. That would be fairly narcissistic of me, wouldn’t it? I don’t think I’m causing them. But I do wonder if I might be one of the few who actually cares to notice them. And if I might be making things worse by exposing them to the light.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?” Ward asked.

  “No.” Stone set the glass down and rubbed at his face with both hands, shoving his hair up into spikes. “I don’t. Perhaps it’s just that I’ve unwittingly chosen to relocate into a place that’s prone to more supernatural goings-on than others might be. Though I do wonder whether the increased amount of activity is starting to…well…feed on itself a bit, I suppose.”

  “You mean the fact that it’s there might be attracting more?” Eddie grabbed a handful of peanuts from a nearby dish and nibbled on them.

  “Is it really that, though? Or is it possible that you’re seeking out?” Ward asked. “When you were here before asking if anyone had pilfered our libraries, you never did give us the whole story about what you were looking for.”

  Stone stared down at his hands on the table. “I don’t know. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’d be better off if I just kept my nose out of things that don’t concern me.”

  “But you can’t do that,” Eddie said, an odd understanding look on his narrow face.

  “No. I can’t.” The image of the taunting sigils floated across his mind’s eye, raising his anger again. “This bastard isn’t going to win. It won’t frighten me off this with its threats.” He sighed. “Bugger it, let’s talk about something else. I’m sick of the whole thing. I’ll deal with it—somehow—when I get back home. For now I just want to get good and drunk and forget about the whole damned thing. Are you two in?”

  Eddie grinned. “When was I ever not, mate?”

  Despite his best attempts to the contrary, however, Stone remained stubbornly sober. He threw himself into swapping old stories with Eddie and Ward, recounting well-worn anecdotes from their days as apprentices and university students. By mutual agreement none of them brought up anything recent, but Stone couldn’t shake his obsession with what was going on back in California. He wondered if the demon would kill someone else while he was on the other side of the world downing pints of Guinness and chattering on as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Finally, around one a.m., he gave it up. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not fit company tonight. It’s been great to see you both—I really must get over here more often, or you should visit me sometime in America. But for now…I think I’ll just head back home and try to get some sleep before I go back tomorrow.”

  Eddie nodded in understanding and pushed back from the table. “No problem, mate. I should get going too. Got a couple other projects I put aside to work on this thing of yours today, and folks are waitin’ for ‘em.” He stood and clapped Stone on the shoulder. “You take care o’ yourself, Alastair. And call if you need any ’elp.”

  “That goes for me as well,” Ward said, standing too. “I won’t lie, you probably won’t get me out looking for things in dark alleys—not really in shape for that these days—but if you need any help with research or just someone to chat with, don’t hesitate.”

  “I appreciate that—you know I do,” Stone said. He grinned. “And don’t worry, Ward—I’m not expecting you to go on any adventures. I know what a hobbit you are.�
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  “Bloody right,” Ward said, nodding emphatically. “You should think about being a bit more of a hobbit yourself, Stone. You live longer that way.”

  “But where’s the fun in that, though?” Stone didn’t join them in standing. Instead, he waved them off. “You two go on. I’m going to finish my pint and hit the loo before I head back to the train station.”

  Eddie gave him the fuzz-gazed once-over Stone immediately recognized as magical sight. “You sure, mate?”

  “Go on,” he said again. “I’ll be fine. Not like something’s going to come after me halfway ’round the world, is it?”

  The two of them departed, leaving Stone alone at the table with the last of his Guinness. Few customers remained now, scattered in small groups at a few of the tables and interspersed along the heavy, dark wood bar. The Dragon was an out-of-the way place, tucked back along a side street and not catering to the tourist crowd, which was much of the reason he liked it. The light pop music from the speakers competed with the low hubbub of voices and the distant drone of a couple elevated TV screens showing football matches.

  Stone allowed himself to relax a bit, finishing up his pint. He wasn’t looking forward to the cab ride back to the train station, and hoped Aubrey hadn’t waited up for him. If he got home and the caretaker was asleep, he’d just leave a note and head back to California tonight so he could check on Raider and get a few hours’ sleep. He set the empty glass on the table and headed toward the back of the pub toward the restrooms.

  When he returned a few moments later after dousing his face in cold water to take the edge off his unsatisfying alcoholic buzz, someone was sitting at his table.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  At first, he barely noticed. Even though the place wasn’t crowded, it wasn’t entirely out of the question that someone else had come in and chosen the exact table he’d been sitting at only five minutes earlier. Unlikely, but certainly possible.

  But as he passed by, the shadowy figure raised its head and met his gaze, a strange half-smile hovering on its thin lips.

  Stone paused and turned back as a crawling sensation settled at the base of his neck. The man was still watching him, still smiling, with blatant lack of regard for any sort of social niceties. He was tall—possibly taller than Stone, though it was hard to tell since he was seated—and thin. He wore a long, black, Western-style coat, jeans, and a white buttoned shirt. His shoulder-length gray hair swept neatly back from a high forehead, revealing a thin, leathery face with jutting cheekbones and a sharp beak of a nose. Despite the old-West getup, though, he didn’t look like a cowboy or even a Native American. His eyes burned with an odd inner light, like pinpoints of fire at the bottom of deep pits. Something about his face seemed subtly wrong, but Stone couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

  “Something I can do for you?” Stone asked. He was being absurd—it was late, he was half-drunk and tired and seeing shadows where none existed.

  The man’s smile broadened a little and he indicated the seat across the table from him, where Stone’s empty glass still sat. “Sit down. I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”

  “Do I know you?” Stone studied the man through narrowed eyes, trying to remember where, or if, he’d seen him before. It wasn’t the sort of face you’d forget. The voice sounded ever so slightly familiar, though: pleasant, resonant, amused.

  “Oh, in a way. Please,” he said again, once more indicating the seat. “I promise I won’t keep you long. I know you have things to do.”

  Stone glanced around the room. A few other people, mostly in small groups, still sat at tables, drinking and chatting and glancing now and then up at the TV screens. Nobody appeared to be paying any attention to him and the odd stranger. Without taking his eyes off the man, he lowered himself into the chair. “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to meet you. I’ve been hearing a lot about you. And given how interested you seem to be in me, I thought it only proper that we meet.”

  Stone froze as he remembered where he’d heard the voice before.

  He’d heard it on the telephone, the night Johnny Cheng died.

  Bloody hell.

  Instantly he shifted to magical sight. No aura surrounded the tall man’s body; the only light on him was from those unsettling eyes. “You.”

  The man’s smile broadened. “There’s no getting anything past you, is there?”

  “What do you want?” Stone asked again. He stared harder at it, trying to pierce its disguise. Was it an illusion? Had the thing actually managed to bring its physical body here? He gathered magical energy to him, but didn’t use it yet. Best to be prepared.

  “As I said—I wanted to chat. And before you think of trying to attack me, don’t bother. I’m not technically here, so it would be pointless. That’s aside from the fact that I’m sure you don’t want to reveal your magical talents to even a small crowd such as this.”

  For a second, Stone’s mind refused to serve up a response. How could this thing be here? Why was it here? Had it followed him halfway around the world just to deliver its taunting message? Was it paying enough attention to him that it knew where he was even when he’d traveled thousands of miles? When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and even but shook a little with cold rage. “I’m going to stop you.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know who I am, or what I want, or where I might strike again.” He shook his head, making a clucking what a shame sound. “The fact is, Dr. Stone, despite talking to cats and trying to track down the place I emerged into your world, you’re—how do you say it—stumped.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that. I know you’re slowly reassembling yourself from bits and bobs you nick from the people you kill. How’s that going, by the way? Hunting down a spleen next, or perhaps a gall bladder? Is that why you can’t pop by in person yet—because it’s quite the social faux pas to show up in public without your kidneys?”

  The man chuckled. “That part of my plan is nearly finished. That’s not the important part anyway—just the prelude. You’re correct that my power isn’t at its fullest yet, but it won’t be long now.”

  “And what then? You’ll take all that skin and blood you’ve been collecting and—I don’t know—write your memoirs? Create a volume of bad poetry? Build yourself a girlfriend?”

  “Keep going, Dr. Stone. You think you’re so amusing, but you won’t be smiling when you finally see what my true plans are. Of course, that won’t be until after I’ve completed them, and there’s no longer any chance for you to stop me. Trust me, though—you won’t be able to miss it.”

  Stone gave him a mocking, mirthless smile. “You claim not to be concerned about what I’m doing—but if that’s so, then why did you bother to leave me your little messages?” He indicated his old leather briefcase, stuffed now with stacks of notes from his research with Ward and Eddie. “You’re wrong, you know: Detective Cheng’s death isn’t my fault. If you think you’re going to paralyze me with guilt over what you’ve done, you’re quite deluded. And you don’t know me very well.”

  The man shrugged one bony shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. It is your fault, Dr. Stone, whether you want to accept it or not. If you hadn’t decided to poke your nose into my business, your friend the detective would still be alive. It’s not as if he had any chance of getting anywhere. The police have nothing. No fingerprints, no evidence, no leads. Of course they don’t. You have managed to figure out one thing, and I’ll give you that one for free: they’ll never catch my agents.”

  “Because they don’t exist,” Stone said. “Because you’re forming them as you need them somehow.”

  “Somehow,” the man agreed. “You don’t have the faintest idea how, but you’ve got the general thrust.”

  “That was you the other night buggering up a good Pink Floyd song, wasn’t it?”

  �
�Of course. I had a faint hope that my…associates might be able to dissuade you from your activities, but I can see you’re quite stubborn. No matter—my plan will proceed whether you’re on the case or not, and it won’t make a bit of difference.”

  Stone gripped the glass. “Then why kill Cheng? If you don’t consider me a threat, then why would you take the trouble to send me a direct message?”

  “I wanted to see how clever you are—if you could even figure out the message, and what you’d do if you did. Most mages are cowards. I’ve known many of them over the years—killed many of them over the years—and I thought you might be one of them.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Stone said. “You go right ahead and underestimate me. You won’t be the first, and you probably won’t be the last. And feel free to follow along—I don’t mind an audience. What should I call you, by the way?”

  The man smiled, showing white teeth with the hints of points. “Come now, Dr. Stone—you don’t think it will be that easy, do you?”

  “No, I suppose not. But I’ve got to call you something. Let’s see…” He tilted his head at the man, studying him for a long moment. “I think I’ll call you ‘Archie.’”

  “Archie?” For just a second, the man seemed genuinely confused.

  “He was a boy I went to school with, back in my boarding-school days. You remind me of him—smarmy little wanker, and quite the bully. Yes, that will do just fine, I think. Archie it is, unless you want to give me a better suggestion.”

  The red pinpoints in the man’s eyes flared. “Be careful, Stone. I could kill you where you sit, if you stop entertaining me.”

  “Go on, then.” Stone spread his hands and leaned back in his chair.

  Archie stood. He was tall—at least two or three inches taller than Stone’s six-two—and almost skeletally thin in his long black coat. For a moment he loomed over Stone, but then took a step back and made a mocking bow. “I’ll bid you good night now, Dr. Stone. I’m glad we had this chat, and you’d best hope your rudeness doesn’t get another of your little friends killed. Perhaps the gray-haired woman who likes cats, or your dark-skinned drinking buddy. You’ll never know, will you? You’ll just have to wait and see what I do next.” He turned to leave, then stopped and turned back. “Remember: I’ll be watching you. I’ve got big plans for you, but not just yet.”