Mortal Imperative: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles Book 24)

by R. L. King

  “So…you believe Richter’s using this Halstrom to help him locate mages to recruit to the Ordo,” Ward said soberly.

  “I don’t know that—but it’s a damned good guess. It’s what I would do if I were in Richter’s place. If he can identify them before they know they’re mages and make them an offer it’s difficult to refuse—possibly even put them under a magical oath—he could collect quite a significant force to his side without anyone knowing about it. Particularly if he focused on latent mages with other talents, like researchers, scholars, scientists…”

  “And necromancers,” Ward said.

  Stone nodded. “Yes. But it still doesn’t make sense!” He slammed his fist down on the table in frustration.

  “Why not?” Eddie asked.

  “Because it’s been less than a year since Halstrom turned up at all. And less than that since Richter, or whoever, broke him out of prison. If this Padgett woman is Cheltham, she was working in a dress shop in bloody Basingstoke. If she wasn’t showing any sign of the Talent, how did Richter even know to point Halstrom at her in the first place? And even if he somehow did manage to do that, how did she learn skills like that in less than a year? You saw Brathwaite’s notes—that kind of stuff would be difficult for us to manage, let alone a mage who’s barely known she’s one for such a short time.”

  Eddie and Ward exchanged glances.

  “You’ve got a point,” Ward said reluctantly.

  Stone reached out for the laptop. “Let me see that photo again.” When Ward shoved it over to him, he snapped up the magnifying glass and focused closer on it.

  “Well?” Eddie asked after a few moments passed in silence.

  “I think it’s her,” Stone said. “Like I said, there’s something about the eyes.” He sighed. “I suppose there’s one way to find out.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Go up to Basingstoke tomorrow and see if she’s still there.”

  Eddie chuckled. “You could just ring the shop, mate.”

  “I could, yes. But this situation is bloody strange. If she is Cheltham and for some reason she’s still got ties to the place, I don’t want her finding out I’m on to her until I can look her in the eyes and see her aura. And if she’s not there, maybe I can get something from her coworkers.”

  “I ’ope you get somewhere.” Eddie gathered more papers and used magic to stack several books on the end of the table. “Me, I’m up for a good long sleep. And I’ve still got that stuff to do for Yarborough.”

  Stone smiled. As frazzled and frustrated as he was, his friends’ loyalty and willingness to do whatever was necessary to help him find the information he needed warmed him. He’d never say it, of course—Eddie and Ward would tease him unmercifully for such uncharacteristic emotion—but it was true. “Thanks—both of you. You may have just cracked this case.”

  “Just don’t ask me to go against any walking dead,” Ward said, shivering.

  “Don’t worry. The only walking dead around here will be you lot after too many pints at the Dragon—which I’ll be paying for.”

  Eddie grinned. “Free pints—music to my ears. Take care, Stone. Seriously—be careful. Don’t get out of buyin’ those rounds by gettin’ yerself killed.”

  23

  There was no ley line close enough to Basingstoke to make it worthwhile to travel that way, so Stone left the London house in the morning to make the drive. He took the black Mercedes that remained at the house, another bequest from Desmond. It was several years old but immaculately kept, and he enjoyed driving it. He supposed it was a good thing, in a way, that he couldn’t use ley lines to go everywhere.

  He’d called Verity from the land line at the house last night when he returned there, since he’d forgotten to bring his burner phone. She and the others had been disappointed he wouldn’t be returning that evening.

  “I’ll be home soon,” he told her. “Got a couple things I need to look into tomorrow. Did you lot come up with any ideas?”

  “Not really. We’ve mostly just been catching up. Ian’s been telling us about his travels, and he’s interested in Jason’s new power thing.” She paused, and muffled voices came through. “He wants to know if you want him to join you there.”

  “Tell him no, this is nothing exciting. I’ll be back tomorrow. You all enjoy yourselves.”

  Now, as he drove, he thought once again about how fragmented his life had become—how many secrets and bits of information he knew that one or more of his friends didn’t. Not for the first time, he considered bringing Verity, Ian, Jason, Amber, Eddie, and Ward together in one room and catching them all up so they were all on the same page. Of course, that wasn’t completely possible unless he added Kolinsky and Trevor Harrison to the mix, which was unfortunately about as likely as arranging a dinner party with the Queen, the Pope, and Elvis.

  His frustration with the situation was growing; the older he got and the more deeply entrenched in serious magical threats, the less he wanted to maintain his old secrecy. He trusted his friends, and nowadays it seemed more dangerous to keep things from them than to make them aware of what they were facing. That was one thing they’d done a good job of teaching him over the years: he no longer had to feel like he had to handle everything on his own.

  He reached Basingstoke at eleven, relying on his memory of the directions so he didn’t have to turn on his phone. The Mercedes was too old to have a navigation system, and it seemed disrespectful to Desmond’s traditionalist legacy to have one added, so paper maps it was.

  Franny’s Finery was on the ground floor of a two-story, white-painted building, sandwiched between a pizza shop and a hair salon. Its window sported several colorful dresses on mannequins, their style suggesting the shop’s primary clientele was older women of modest means. Stone was reminded of a similar shop next door to Madame Huan’s shop back in Palo Alto.

  Stone parked around the back and used his illusionary disguise amulet to make himself look like a boring, middle-aged man in slacks and a sweater. A little bell gave a cheerful tinkle as he pushed open the door.

  Inside was a world completely foreign to him, smelling of perfume, fabric, and powder. Racks along the wall held rows of dresses, with more on spinning displays in the center and a pair of headless mannequins arrayed in fall-hued party clothes. To Stone’s relief, there weren’t any other customers.

  “Hellooo!” came a pleasant voice from behind the counter. “What can I do for you, luv? You look lost!”

  Stone hurried to the back to find himself facing a woman in her fifties. She had elaborately styled hair, too much makeup, and wore a powder-blue dress. “Er…yes.” He did his best to sound like a harried husband. “I’m looking for something for my wife.”

  “Ooh, yes, of course. I’m sure I can help you! Have you got her sizes?”

  “Er…yes,” he said again. He fumbled at his pocket, then looked up without pulling anything out. “Actually—she’s a bit hard to fit. I’ve heard your shop has an amazing alterations girl. Have I got the right place? I think her name was something like…Mary, or Marian, maybe?”

  The woman tilted her head. “We haven’t got a Mary…oh! Are you thinking of Miriam?”

  “Miriam! Yes, that’s it! I’ve heard she’s an absolute wiz with a sewing machine. Is she here?”

  She shook her head in disappointment. “No…I’m sorry, luv. I’m afraid she’s not with us anymore.”

  “Oh, dear. She’s…passed on?” He lowered his voice to a funereal hush.

  The woman laughed. “Oh! Oh, no, no—well, I don’t think so, anyway. She’s not working here anymore. Strangest thing, too—she just up and disappeared one day. She was reliable as clockwork for years, Miriam was, but one day a little over a year ago, she just…didn’t show up for work. Haven’t seen her since. Eventually sent her last paycheck to her mum, who’s her only living relative.” She narrowed her eyes. “Left me in a bit of a lurch, I don’t mind telling you. I like to think she might have met a nice young man and r
un away with him…but if you knew Miriam, that was probably unlikely.”

  Ah. Good. This woman was a talker. Stone looked disappointed. “I’m so sorry to hear that. My wife’s friend swore by her, apparently.”

  “Yes, a lot of my customers did. She was a mousy thing—didn’t get on with the customers, so I kept her working in the back, but she seemed to enjoy that. It was just her and her mum, poor thing.”

  “She lived with her mother?”

  “Oh, no, no—her mum’s in a care home in London. Brixton, I think she said. Miriam used to visit her every Saturday, but apparently she didn’t even tell her mum she was leaving. The police got involved for a bit, but since there wasn’t any sign of foul play, they decided she must’ve just had enough of it all and done a runner.”

  “That’s dreadful,” Stone said sympathetically. “I do hope she’s all right.”

  “So do I, so do I.” The woman bustled out from behind the counter. “Anyway, enough of me blathering on. Let’s find you something for your wife, shall we?”

  “Er. Well, the more I think about it, the more I think I should probably talk to her again—you know, to find out better what she likes.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “You know how we blokes are, trying to pick out clothes for the ladies. Maybe I should just get her a necklace or something.”

  She laughed. “I hate to lose myself a sale, but you’re a wise man. If she gives you any tips, though, come on back. I promise to help you pick out something she’ll love. And our new alterations girl is almost as good as Miriam.”

  Stone didn’t pause until he’d left the shop and turned the corner back toward the Mercedes.

  So Miriam Padgett had disappeared over a year ago, leaving no trace. That fit if she’d somehow discovered hidden magical powers, but it still didn’t make sense. He hadn’t told Eddie and Ward the whole story because his oath to Kolinsky prevented it, but he knew Ben Halstrom hadn’t come into his wild-talent abilities until after Miriam had disappeared. That meant either Richter had at least one other mage with similar abilities, or she’d somehow discovered her talent—and possibly some of Brathwaite’s notes—on her own.

  Both seemed unlikely, though.

  He checked his watch. It was only eleven-thirty. He’d been meaning to return to the London house, drop off the Mercedes, and head back home to California. But he still had one more lead to follow, and he hated to leave without investigating it.

  He found a convenience store and purchased a prepaid phone with cash, as Jason and Amber had explained. He took it back to the Mercedes and called Eddie. When his friend answered, he explained what he wanted.

  “Sure,” Eddie said immediately. “That shouldn’t take longer than an hour.”

  “Brilliant. I’m heading back to London—call me at this number when you’ve got something.”

  It took less than half an hour before Eddie called back with the information he was looking for.

  “That was quick,” he said. “Well done.”

  Eddie snorted. “Come on, mate. That’s 101-level stuff. Give me a challenge next time.”

  24

  The care home where Winifred Padgett lived was a dismal little place on a dismal side street. The shabby, weatherworn building looked like it was built sometime in the Fifties, its architecture as drab and gray as the sky overhead. Stone felt sorry for the old bird, having to live in a place like this—especially after her only daughter and probably her only connection with the outside world had disappeared without a word.

  He’d picked up a bouquet of colorful flowers from a shop on the way over. Illusionary disguise in place, he strode in to the home’s reception area like he’d done this every day.

  The young woman behind the reception desk looked bored, and appeared to be playing a game on her phone. She looked almost resentful to be interrupted. “Help you?”

  “Yes. I’ve come to visit Winifred Padgett. Is it possible to see her today? I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

  She studied him and his bouquet. “Are you a relative?”

  “A distant one. I was in the area on business, so I thought I’d drop by for a quick visit.”

  “Hold on, let me check if she’s available.” She picked up her desk phone and had a brief conference with someone, then hung up and shoved a clipboard across the desk at him. “Sign in there, and I’ll need to see some ID.”

  Stone wrote a fake name in an illegible scrawl, along with a fake phone number. His next action would be taking a chance, but judging by how bored the girl looked, he didn’t think it was much of one.

  He shoved the clipboard back, along with a palmed fifty-pound note. “I’m afraid I’ve left my identification in my other trousers today. Is that going to be a problem?”

  Her eyes widened a little at the sight of the money, but she quickly made it disappear and shook her head, her whole demeanor brightening. “No, sir, no problem at all. You got an honest face, and I’m sure Mrs. Padgett will be happy to have a visitor. She don’t get many.” She pointed over her shoulder. “Just go down that hallway and make your first right. She’s in room 104.”

  Stone nodded thanks and headed down the long hallway. To his left, he passed a sitting area where three elderly residents were seated in wheelchairs, generally facing a television screen displaying a chat show. None of them looked like they were watching the show, though; in fact, two of them had the wandering, slack expressions that indicated their minds were probably far away.

  A little shiver ran up Stone’s back as he passed quickly by. The one thing he feared far more than dying was losing his mind—either to some magical mishap or to simple old age and dementia. Even seeing others suffering from the same affliction disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did his best to avoid such people for exactly that reason. He hoped Winifred Padgett’s mind was still sharp enough to allow conversation.

  The door to room 104 was open. Stone poked his head in and saw a pair of beds with brown floral spreads, two wooden nightstands between them, and a long dresser on the opposite side with small TV set. A pair of chairs and a square table were under the window. The open drapes revealed a grassy courtyard outside. A white-haired elderly woman in a blue bed jacket sat in one of the chairs, looking out the window with a cup of tea on the table next to her.

  “Mrs. Padgett?” he asked softly.

  The old lady’s head jerked up. Apparently there was nothing wrong with her hearing. “Oh!” she said, startled, when she spotted Stone. “Thelma isn’t here right now, dear. She’s gone out for the afternoon with her family.”

  Stone didn’t miss the wistful sadness in her tone. “I’m not here to see Thelma, Mrs. Padgett. I’m here to see you. Do you have a bit of time to chat with me?”

  Her watery eyes, magnified behind round glasses, shifted from his face to the bouquet of flowers he carried. “Are those…for me?” She sounded like she couldn’t believe it might be possible.

  “They are. I thought they might brighten up your room a bit. Do you have something I can put them in?”

  She pointed to a shelf, where a vase held some faded plastic blooms. “You can put them in there, if you get some water from the lav.”

  Stone hurried to comply, leaving the plastic flowers on the shelf and replacing them with the real ones. He set the vase on the table in front of her. “There we go. Much nicer, wouldn’t you say?”

  Her eyes glittered. “They’re beautiful. No one ever brings me flowers anymore. Thank you so much, young man. I only wish I knew who you were, and why you’re being so kind.”

  “Well…do you mind if I sit down?”

  “Please do.” She looked delighted, and waved vaguely at the other chair.

  Stone sat, studying her face. She had to be at least eighty, and probably not in the best of health. Her skin was wrinkled and blotchy, her posture hunched, and her hands on the table trembled, but her brown eyes were sharp and steady. Her body wasn’t in the best shape, but her mind seemed fine. “Mrs. Pa
dgett…my name is Michael Townes. You don’t know me, but I wonder if I might talk to you about something that might make you a bit uncomfortable.”

  “What do you mean, dear?”

  “I’d like to talk about your daughter, Miriam.”

  He watched her aura as he spoke. Its normal color was a pale orange, shot through with dark patches from both her age and her illness. When he mentioned Miriam’s name, it jumped, flaring sudden red.

  “I…don’t want to talk about Miriam,” she said, and bowed her head.

  “I know. I understand, and I’m so sorry to bring it up, but it’s really quite important.”

  “Why?” Her voice sounded sharper now. “I don’t know what happened to her. Either she decided I wasn’t worth her time anymore, or something horrible happened to her. Either way, it’s not something I want to remember.”

  Stone sighed, looking sympathetic. “I know…I’m so sorry. But it’s terribly important that I find her—or find out what happened to her. Lives might depend on it.”

  “Lives?” Her gaze came up again. “Are you a policeman, Mr. Townes?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m an old friend of your daughter’s.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know Miriam had any friends. Except me.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “You two weren’t—”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. Just old friends. We chatted sometimes, that’s all. I only have a few things I want to ask you, Mrs. Padgett. Would you consider answering them for me?”

  She looked suddenly fretful, staring down at her liver-spotted hands in her lap. Stone was certain she was torn between wanting to keep a visitor—even one she didn’t know—around, and her reluctance to discuss the circumstances of Miriam’s disappearance. “I don’t know…”

  “Please, Mrs. Padgett. I only have a few questions, I promise.”