The Madness Below: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles Book 20)

by R. L. King

  “Hold on, Eddie—Verity’s here.” Stone used magic to swing the door open and waved her in. “Let me put you on speaker.” He tapped the button on the phone and set it on the nightstand as she came in. “Okay, go on.”

  “There isn’t a lot else to tell,” Blodgett said. “There are a few random references in my material—one that implies that the Lurker survives on death energy, so it needs a periodic infusion of power to keep it going, and perhaps more than that to wake it up. The Brotherhood definitely practiced human sacrifice, so they probably did that during their rituals to keep it happy.”

  “Hmm…” Stone said. “So that might be why it compelled those students to kill people, not realizing that when they did, they’d be too far away for it to make use of the energy.”

  “Quite possibly,” Blodgett agreed. “If the cultists prepared this underground space for the Lurker, then they probably remained much closer to it so they could complete their rituals in its proximity.”

  “And this thing couldn’t die, per se, so when the regular infusions of death energy stopped coming, it remained in a sort of suspended animation until Joe Buchanan blundered along and woke it up.”

  “Sounds about right,” Eddie said. “Oh—one other thing we found: the kind of death energy the Lurker most coveted was taken from those people the killer valued or loved the most—or, barring that, from someone who was well-loved by somebody. Maybe it was tastier or summat, I don’t know. If those cultists were barmy enough, that could explain why they didn’t carry on—maybe they sacrificed their own children to feed it.”

  “And that explains why the students here killed their parents, siblings, boyfriends…” Stone sighed loudly and shot Verity a tired glance. “But all that energy was wasted, fortunately, because they were too far away when the murders were committed.” He paused, thinking. “Does this mean it’s over, then? That the Lurker will go back to sleep and wait for someone else to stumble across it? Does it mean if we find this building, we can put some kind of magical protection around it so no one else will come near it, at least until we can figure out how to deal with it for good?”

  “Maybe,” Eddie said. “Seems like the best possible solution to me. You might’ve dodged a bullet because ancient terrifying Old-God ’eralds don’t have a proper concept of modern Earth distances.”

  Stone sank back down on the bed next to Verity. “Right, then. Anything else you need to tell me?”

  “Let’s see…” Blodgett said, followed by the sound of rustling papers. “Oh—yes, a couple of things. First—and this is very sketchy, because the records are incomplete—it’s possible that the Lurker doesn’t actually do the summoning itself. It may infuse the cultists with the power to do a second ritual which summons a series of—I don’t know what to call them, exactly—”

  “Assistant ’eralds?” Eddie offered. “Sub-’eralds? ’Eralds Lite?”

  “This is serious, Eddie,” the reverend said in a tone suggesting this hadn’t been the first time he’d had to contend with Eddie’s peculiar brand of humor. “In any case, these beings may be the ones who do the actual summoning, if I’m reading this correctly. And they’re quite terrifying enough on their own: single-focused, otherwise mindless things whose sole purpose is to perform the summoning and prevent anything from interfering with it.”

  “Okay,” Stone said. “But with any luck we won’t have to worry about that, because the Lurker won’t get the chance to bring them over. What’s the other thing?”

  The line crackled.

  “Reverend?”

  The next voice that spoke wasn’t Blodgett’s, but Ward’s. “It’s difficult to know for sure because the cult’s records reckon time differently, but a small possibility exists that the reason the Lurker never reached out to anyone else previously, even though many other people have used that hiking trail, is because…”

  “Oh, bloody hell…” Stone murmured, already seeing where he was going.

  “Because this is the time when conditions are right to bring the big boss over,” Eddie finished.

  22

  Verity touched Stone’s arm. “You okay?” she whispered.

  They’d returned to the front part of the house after the phone call, passing Noah on his way to the bathroom. Walt, Kevin, and Noah were all now camped on the two sofas in the family room, cheering over a football game while Dez worked on preparing the Thanksgiving turkey and other fixings in the kitchen. The whole house was full of the enticing aromas of roasting turkey and baking pies. Stone and Verity were currently in the living room, looking out the window at the continuing rain, which hadn’t let up in the slightest.

  Stone sighed. “I don’t like sitting on my arse while something this big could be happening out there.”

  “Do you really think it is, though? Come on, nobody’s gonna be out there in this. And you heard those guys—even if that is that Lurker thing, it probably missed its chance when it compelled the kids to kill those people so far away. So all we have to do is wait till the rain stops and things dry out a little, then go out there, find the place, and you can do your thing to make sure nobody else gets near it.”

  “Yes, but I’m concerned about what they said about this being the time. If that’s true, I imagine it’s going to try fairly hard to make something happen, since that’s its entire purpose for existence. And what about the Ordo?” He sighed, pressing his forehead against the chilly glass. “I still can’t work out their role in this. It sounds like they have the same suspicions we do, but what do they want to do with them?”

  “Doc…” Verity said tentatively, as if she were thinking something over.

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t think they…well, both of them were several-hundred-year-old organizations that died out. Both of them did human sacrifices. And now the Ordo’s resurfaced. You don’t think there’s any connection, do you?”

  “I thought about that, but I don’t. From everything I’ve seen, the Ordo was at its core a scholarly organization. They wanted to know everything there is to know about magic, so they could use it to increase their power and prestige. They were the wealthy, educated, privileged elite of magical society.” He chuckled. “I think you’ve got a fairly good idea of what wealthy, privileged mages’ egos can be like—and I’ve got more scruples than the lot of them combined. Imagine what that kind of unfettered ego, unhindered by petty considerations like conscience, could produce. More importantly, what it wouldn’t produce: anyone who’d give up any of their power by worshiping some extradimensional horror and hoping it went along with the plan.”

  She still didn’t look convinced. “What if they thought it could give them more power, though? I mean…” She looked away, not meeting his gaze. “I hate to bring it up, but isn’t that what your grandmother and her people were up to? Trying to make a deal with an extradimensional entity in exchange for knowledge? That sounds a lot like the Ordo to me. And waiting for the time to be right for something big to happen sounds a lot like this Brotherhood thing.”

  Stone winced. She had a point, and he hadn’t thought of that. Maybe he’d been trying to blot that part of his life from his mind a bit more than he’d admit. “Well,” he said, “I won’t say you’re wrong, because you make some good points. I’m more inclined to believe the Ordo is doing the same thing we are, though: trying to study this thing. We don’t know how much they know, but I’d say it’s probably smart to assume they know everything we do. They don’t have Eddie and Ward and Blodgett, but they’ve probably got access to research material we’ll never see.”

  “So what’s that mean? You don’t think they’d go out there in the rain either, do you?”

  “No, I suppose not. But we’ve got to be ready to go as soon as the rain stops. We can’t afford to let this sit for too long. I’m sure they’ll be ready—wherever they ended up.”

  “I agree.” She took his hand. “But for now, there’s nothing we can do about it, so why don’t we try to relax for a little while? I’
m gonna go see if I can help Dez with the cooking. Why don’t you go watch the football game or something?”

  He gave her a look. “Seriously? The women cook and the blokes lounge about in front of the sporting event? How…last-century suburban.”

  She chuckled. “I don’t think any of us want you in the kitchen, Doc. You’ll probably cut your thumb off or something. And you should probably do something to pretend to be social. C’mon—think of it as training to be a real American. All red-blooded American men watch football on Thanksgiving. My dad and Jason used to do it all the time when I was little. It’s kind of an institution.”

  “I’ve had enough institutions for the foreseeable future,” he grumbled, but he did allow her to lead him out past the kitchen.

  “Let me help you out there,” she called to Dez, who was bent down in front of the oven, checking on the turkey.

  “Oh, no, it’s fine. Everything’s under control. Go watch the game, both of you.”

  “Doesn’t seem right, us all sitting around while you’re stuck in the kitchen.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured them. “I actually enjoy cooking, and the boys would just make a mess.”

  Verity chuckled. “Doc would make a mess too. I’m trying to teach him to cook, but his talents lie elsewhere, I guess.”

  Dez flicked a quick glance up at her, but then returned to her work. “Go on,” she said again. “I’ll be out soon.”

  Three hours later, Stone had begun to understand the true meaning of “cabin fever.” He was grateful for his meditation techniques, which allowed him to do something—anything—other than pay attention to the football game everyone else, including Verity, was watching with enthusiasm. He’d been hopeful that when the game ended, they might find something else to watch—perhaps a movie he could focus on—but no, the first game was barely over when Walt switched over to the kickoff of a second. Verity, sitting next to Stone on the sofa with Noah on the other side, squeezed his hand and gave him a sympathetic look. Dez popped in and out of the kitchen to check on various dishes, but seemed as riveted by the game as everyone else.

  The rain continued to come down. In California, this level of rainfall would have resulted in flood conditions by now, but here the sky merely remained gray and visibility terrible. Stone wished magic were capable of controlling weather, but sadly that wasn’t among its capabilities—at least as far as current study was aware.

  Finally, around five o’clock after the view outside had grown so dark they could no longer see the rain, Dez called to them from the dining room. “Okay, we’re about good to go here. Noah and Kevin, turn off that game and come set the table. Everybody else, have a seat.”

  The boys hopped up and hurried out to obey. Stone and Verity followed more slowly.

  “I feel…wrong about this,” Stone whispered to her.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I feel like I should have at least popped out and picked up a bottle of wine or something. And…” he sighed. “I also feel bad for Aubrey. He was so excited about putting together a real American-style Thanksgiving dinner. He does it every year. And now I’ve had to postpone, so he and Selby are probably eating something dull in the kitchen, or off to the pub down in the village.”

  He studied the table, decorated with candles, a floral arrangement featuring a cornucopia and a plush turkey wearing a police badge and wide-brimmed Pilgrim hat, and at least a dozen serving dishes full of vegetables, rolls, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and all the other traditional Thanksgiving fixings. When he shifted to magical sight, the first thing that struck him was a feeling of contentment surrounding not only the Griffith family, but the house in general. He’d seen it before, in homes with deeply loving families; it wasn’t as strong as the golden aura surrounding Grace Ruiz’s apartment back in San Jose, but he wondered if it might nonetheless serve as a minor ward to protect this family from random supernatural threats. Or if not protect them, at least provide mild encouragement to such threats to seek their victims elsewhere.

  Verity squeezed his hand again. “They’ll be fine,” she whispered. “Aubrey will understand. Maybe you can do Christmas dinner instead.”

  “Maybe so.” The sad thing was, she was right: Aubrey would understand. Aubrey always understood. But that didn’t mean Stone felt any better about deserting his oldest and most loyal friend, regardless of whether he had a good reason for doing it.

  “Okay, everybody, take your seats and let’s get to gorging ourselves until we can’t move!” Dez said, spreading her arms. “Dr. Stone, you and Verity are on that side, across from the boys.”

  As Stone and Verity took the indicated seats, Stone found himself suddenly reminded of another Thanksgiving dinner they’d spent with newly-met friends a few years ago at a Forgotten commune in West Virginia. He’d felt the same sense of contentment there—a created family instead of a blood one in that case, but no less loving. He wondered briefly what it might be like to settle down, to start a family of his own—and wondered if his restless spirit would ever let him do it.

  “Let’s take a moment to say grace before we begin,” Dez said. “Walt?”

  Walt Griffith, who seemed content most of the time to remain in the shadow of his more forceful wife, bowed his head. After a moment, Dez and the boys did the same, followed by Verity and Stone.

  “Lord,” he said, “we thank you for the bounty you’ve provided for us. On this day of thanks, we also thank you for our family, our health, and our prosperity. We thank you for another good year. We thank you for our friends, old and new, and we ask you to provide comfort to those who’ve experienced recent tragedy.”

  “Also, we pray for continued safety for all of us,” Dez added. She didn’t glance at Stone and Verity when she said it, but Stone, with his eyes open, sensed she was aiming it at them nonetheless.

  “Amen,” Walt said.

  Everyone repeated, “Amen.”

  “Now let’s eat!” Noah said. He flashed Verity a grin. “You’re gonna love Mom’s mashed potatoes. They’re great!”

  Everything was great. The tantalizing aromas were hard to ignore; the Griffiths immediately set about making Stone and Verity feel like part of the family, passing them dish after dish and encouraging them to try everything. Stone, who hadn’t done more than nibble on chips and other snacks since that morning, discovered he had more of an appetite than usual, and even polished off seconds of turkey and vegetables.

  “This is outstanding, Dez,” he said, tossing his napkin on the table. “I’m not sure I’ve left room for any of those delicious-looking pies you’ve made, but I certainly plan to give it a go.”

  Dez beamed. “Thank you, Dr. Stone. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I’m sure you can—”

  In the kitchen, the phone rang.

  The Griffiths exchanged glances, clearly wondering who would call them in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner, but then Dez leaped up and hurried out to answer it.

  Stone was finishing the last of his wine when she came back, moving more slowly now. Her expression suggested someone had just punched her in the solar plexus.

  “Dez?” Stone asked, getting up.

  “Mom?” Kevin got up too, and hurried over to her.

  “Is everything okay?” Noah pushed back from the table and regarded her with worried eyes.

  “Uh…just cop stuff, kids,” she mumbled. “Dr. Stone, could I talk to you and Verity for a moment in the other room?”

  Another thrill of dread crept up the back of Stone’s neck. What now? Had the Ordo men braved the storm and set something in motion up at the campground?

  The two of them followed Dez to the living room, where she stopped in front of the window in the same spot Stone and Verity had stood earlier that day.

  “What’s happened?” Stone asked softly.

  She turned to face them, her eyes shadowed with stress. “That was Boyd. He knew I’ve been keeping up with the case, so he thought I’d want to know right away.” She took a deep brea
th and gathered herself. “The kids at Maple Ridge have all broken out, killing several staff members in the process, and escaping in one of the facility’s vans. From what they can piece together, it happened an hour or so ago, and appeared to be a highly coordinated attack.” She swallowed. “They planned it, Dr. Stone. They knew it was coming, and waited for the time when the fewest people would be in their way. And now nobody knows where they are.”

  23

  “Bloody hell,” Stone murmured.

  Verity stared at her, shocked. “They broke out? But they were in the security lockup section. We saw it last night. There’s no way anybody could have gotten out without magic, or outside help.”

  Dez slumped into a nearby chair. “They didn’t break out of the lockout. They were in the day room. The staff had arranged a special Thanksgiving dinner for the residents—our kids and four others—and were serving it in there. The kids had shown literally no violent tendencies since they arrived, so I guess they thought it would be safe to risk it.”

  “Do they know what happened?” Stone asked. “You said several people were killed—”

  “Everybody was killed,” she said dully, as if she didn’t quite believe it herself. “Everyone in the day room. The nurses, the orderlies, the security guards, even the other kids who weren’t part of their group. Twelve people in all. By the time anyone else turned up and discovered what had happened, the kids had gotten out using the security guard’s keycard, and stolen one of the facility’s vans.”

  “And no one knows where they are?” Stone paced the room, suddenly restless. “Wouldn’t the van be easy to spot?”

  “Not necessarily. The visibility’s terrible in this weather after dark. There aren’t a lot of cops on the road since most people are home with their families, and a lot of the roads around here go out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “They’ve got to know they won’t get far,” Verity said. “Everybody will be looking for them as soon as this hits the news. They can’t stop anywhere for food, they don’t have any money—why would they break out now?”