by R. L. King
One of them stretched out and touched his arm, sending a sharp, electric tingle up through his shoulder. He jerked sideways, but didn’t drop his concentration. Now that he had the edge partially connected, the process had grown marginally easier. It was painstaking work, but as long as he could keep his focus and prevent the tentacles from attacking him, it was simply a matter of doing the same thing over and over: connect part of the rift, push in the next bit, connect that, lather, rinse, repeat. Of course, it would get harder as he went on, because all that stuff had to go somewhere. His fanciful image popped into his head again, with Santa’s prodigious gut straining hard against a series of elves’ increasingly frantic efforts to stuff it into some stylish denim trousers.
Hey, whatever worked. At least the amusement was taking his mind off the pain.
A little, anyway.
Good thing, too, because the bleeding wasn’t stopping. His lightheadedness was turning steadily to the edges of foggy grayness, with little black flecks of oblivion dancing in his vision. If he gave in to them, everything he did here would be undone.
A little more…
A little more…
He was halfway there now.
Keep going…
A black tentacle smacked him in the side of the head, knocking him over. Pain lit up in his temple, and the black flecks grew larger, but he channeled his rage at whoever had done this and kept going.
“You’re…not…going to stop me…” he growled through gritted teeth, swiping a mixture of blood and stinging sweat from his eyes. He forced himself to move a little faster, but he couldn’t go too fast. If he did, he could lose his tenuous hold on the rift’s edges and the whole thing would come undone like an unraveling sweater.
Almost there…
Another tentacle lashed out and wrapped around his ankle, pulling him over. He crashed down on his arm and thought he heard something crack. He definitely felt something crack, but the nails-on-chalkboard psychic onslaught was playing hell with his concentration. He struggled up again and kept going.
But the tentacle hadn’t let go of his ankle after it pulled him over, and now it was retracting, trying to drag him toward the rift.
Panic flowered around the edges of Stone’s consciousness. He couldn’t let it pull him in there. He had no idea what was on the other side, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to know. If that was where the tentacles and the spider-things had come from, it wasn’t a place he wanted to be.
He scrabbled at the ground, trying to find something to grab, but he only had one working arm and nothing was there anyway—just scrubby vegetation that pulled free of the damp ground as soon as he got a good grip on it. He tried to wrench his foot loose, but that didn’t work either—the tentacle was stronger than he was, and just as motivated.
Stop fighting, he told himself. Your only hope is to get that thing closed.
The problem was, “stop fighting” wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Even if his rational mind saw the value in it, his self-preservation instinct was having none of it.
The rift was almost closed now. Most of the tentacles had withdrawn to the other side, leaving only the one that had his ankle and one more waving around. As Stone struggled to pull the last shreds of it together, the second one lashed out, twining around his injured arm.
This time when he screamed, he knew it was the real thing.
The pain was unbearable. He felt like the thing was trying to pull his arm off—which it probably was. His concentration began to slip.
No! Damn you, do this!
With a final roar like a black-belt trying to break a stack of boards, he threw aside everything but his focus on the last bit of the rift. If he couldn’t do this, the pain wouldn’t matter.
The rift was fighting harder than ever now, as if it sensed its existence was in immediate jeopardy, but this close to the edge Stone had momentum on his side. He’d made it over the hump—over the widest part of Santa’s gut—and was on the downhill now.
You have got to get better metaphors.
Just a little more…
The tentacle wrenched harder, sending white-hot pain rocketing through his arm, his shoulder, his whole upper body. The roar dissolved into a scream.
The rift’s final edge closed and sealed.
Another scream joined Stone’s—a psychic one, high and shrieking and discordant.
The tentacles dropped away from his leg and his arm.
Before he passed out, the last thing he saw was both the rift and the remains of the tentacles fading away, first to small, fluttering black shards, and then to nothing.
He had no idea how long he remained unconscious, but it couldn’t have been long. The pain woke him—the pains, really, since he had one in his arm, another in his leg, one in the side of his head, and a whole series of them where the spiders had poked him. And those were just the ones he could identify.
As he struggled to consciousness, he heard a buzzing around him. He nearly panicked again, thinking the psychic hum was still here, which meant the creatures were still here and the rift, somehow, was still open. But no—this time, the cause was a lot more mundane: a series of insects hovering around him, no doubt drawn by all the fresh blood.
Brilliant.
With effort, he dragged himself to a sitting position, flapping his good arm around to try dispersing them. Most didn’t cooperate, though—his bleeding wounds presented far too much of a tasty snack for them to be deterred that easily.
“I’ve got to get out of here…” Stone muttered. He blinked sweat and blood out of his eyes and looked around. How was he even going to do that? He didn’t know where he was, he wasn’t near a road, and even if he was, who would pick him up looking like a refugee from a horror movie?
When the solution came to him, he didn’t like it one bit.
He was on a ley line, which theoretically meant all he’d have to do was use it to travel home.
But was it safe to do that? He’d had trouble with it when he’d come in, ending up upside-down and several feet off the ground. What if that happened again—or worse? What if he popped in somewhere completely different? What if he appeared above another body of water? He didn’t think he had it in him to swim to shore, or to summon sufficient concentration to teleport again, if that happened. Add in the gray fog that had settled over his head and his buggered focus, and the chance of a bad outcome increased exponentially.
You haven’t got a choice. You can’t stay here—if the insects don’t get you, the alligators will.
Again with the alligators!
They are drawn to blood, though—and so is every other predator around here.
It was true. Even if there weren’t alligators, there had to be something out here that would home in on him as long as he was bleeding. Even if he could heal himself—yes, big joke, that—his clothes were still soaked in it. He was like a blazing beacon to every predator within a mile, if he didn’t get the hell out of here fast.
But where could he go? Verity’s place was two blocks from a ley line, but he didn’t know if she was even home. Jason and Amber didn’t live anywhere near one. If he went home, he could call Verity—but it would take her an hour to get to him even if she left instantly. Sure, based on past experience his body would probably heal itself given time, but it wasn’t a fast process and the wait wouldn’t be at all pleasant.
Another face popped into his head, and he smiled.
Of course.
It was, after all, only fair.
16
“Alastair?”
Stone blinked when someone gently shook his shoulder. The voice was a woman’s, soft and concerned. And familiar.
He opened his eyes and jerked, surprised.
Madame Huan stood over him, her dark eyes narrowed with worry.
“Madame…Huan?”
She smiled. “Are you feeling better, dear?”
He realized he was. Nothing hurt anymore. But where was he? Why was Madame Huan here? “Er—”<
br />
“I fixed you all up, so you should be fine now. If you sit up, I’ll get you a cup of tea.”
He swallowed. His mouth was dry, but he didn’t taste blood anymore. He was lying in a soft bed under a heavy blanket, in an unfamiliar room. “How did I—?”
Her smile widened, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Stefan saw to it that you got here. You quite surprised him when you turned up at his shop and collapsed on his doorstep.”
Ahh. So that was it. It all came back to him now. He struggled to a seated position, noting that he was right—nothing did hurt. The only vestige of his injuries was a faint light-headed sensation, probably from loss of blood. He was dressed only in his boxer briefs, but that didn’t bother him, not around Madame Huan. She, or someone, had cleaned him up.
“Yes, well…I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I figured since he was responsible for this whole mess, he could do his part to help sort it out.”
She laughed. “That was very wise of you, dear. A bit reckless, but wise.”
“I didn’t have a lot of choice. I didn’t want to be eaten by a bloody alligator.”
“An…alligator?” She tilted her head.
“Never mind.” He waved it off. “In any case—thanks for sorting me out. I should have known you’d be good at it.”
“Happy to help. If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll be right back with some tea.”
Stone settled back on the soft pillows, looking around the room. He didn’t recognize it, but it was in the same minimalist, elegant Asian style as the other parts of Madame Huan’s home he’d seen in the past. It made sense—Kolinsky had never struck him as much of a healer.
Madame Huan returned with a tray containing two cups, an intricately painted teapot embellished with gold, and a plate of thin cookies. She sat in a chair next to the bed, poured him a cup, and offered him the plate.
“Thank you.” The tea tasted wonderful, and he had to control himself not to eat the entire plate of cookies all on his own. “How long was I out? What time is it?”
“It’s been about eight hours since Stefan brought you here.”
Eight hours? That meant it was getting close to dawn. “Bloody hell—was I hurt that bad?”
“You weren’t unconscious that long—I gave you something to help you sleep while the healing took effect. You had a broken arm, some wrenched muscles, and quite a lot of puncture wounds. Stefan is quite curious about how you got them.”
I’ll just bet he is. “What about you? Are you curious too?”
She gave a kindly smile. “I try to confine my curiosity to less…bloody areas. But he has asked you to come by to see him at your earliest convenience. He says there is no rush.”
“Come on—we both know he’s dying to know what happened.”
“He is.” She sipped her tea, unruffled. “But he was concerned about you, Alastair. Don’t tell him I told you that—it will ruin his reputation.”
Stone wondered how true that was. Was the old dragon actually fonder of him than he’d thought? But then he realized he’d forgotten something: Kolinsky didn’t know about his apparent immortality. Normal scions might be long-lived, but they could be killed the same as any other human—obviously, or his ancestors and William Desmond would still be alive. As far as the dragon knew, he could have been killed chasing down that rift.
Really need to make that scorecard one of these days…
He finished his tea and set the cup on the nightstand. “So—am I good to go? I don’t want to impose on your hospitality any longer than necessary. But believe me, I’m grateful to you for what you’ve done. I’m in your debt.”
She laughed, a delicate, bell-like sound. “Oh, my dear, I don’t deal in debts and balance sheets. That’s Stefan’s domain. I’m just happy I could help.” Her expression sobered, and she placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I truly do think the world would be a darker place without Alastair Stone in it.”
Her words touched him more than he expected. He covered her hand with his. “I’m not so sure about that, but I’m glad I’ve got you looking after me.” He looked around. “I suppose my clothes were a lost cause.”
“Your coat and boots survived, but the rest weren’t recoverable. I can see about finding something for you—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m heading straight home, so the only one who’ll see me in my pants is Raider. He’s seen worse.”
She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I would like to meet this cat of yours someday.”
“I think he’d like you.” He swung around to sit on the edge of the bed. “Thanks again.”
“Are you sure you’re safe to go? I could have someone drive you—”
“No, no. I’m fine.” He stood, and realized he mostly was. Either he hadn’t been injured as badly as he thought, or, more likely, Madame Huan’s healing powers put every other healer he knew—including the Scotsman Eddie had found for him after the Portas business—to shame. Aside from the lingering lightheadedness, he felt as good as he ever did.
Madame Huan enfolded him in a warm hug. “Take care of yourself, dear.”
“I’d say I always do, but I wouldn’t think of lying to you.”
The trip home was uneventful. Raider padded in, pausing in the doorway to take in his unconventional outfit of boxers, long black coat, and untied Doc Martens.
“Don’t say it, mate.” Stone glared mock irritation at the cat. “I didn’t ask your opinion.”
Raider said nothing.
After a shower, a change of clothes, and coffee and a light breakfast at one of the little downtown Encantada shops, even the last vestiges of lightheadedness ebbed. He didn’t have any classes today, so he decided to drive over to Kolinsky’s shop straight away. He had no idea what dragons’ sleeping patterns were like—or even if they slept at all—but he had a lot to report on, and he wanted to get to it before it began to fade.
Not that it would. He expected he’d have at least a few nightmares about the things trying to get into his head. He hoped it would only be a few.
As he expected, Kolinsky’s shop door was unlocked behind the wards. The dragon was waiting for him in his workroom, seated at his rolltop desk.
He rose when Stone entered. “Ah. Alastair. I am pleased to see you, and pleased to see you are well.”
“Yes. Well. Sorry about showing up on your doorstep so late, but I didn’t have too many other options. Thanks for hauling me to Madame Huan’s.”
“Of course. She has a far better touch with healing than I do.”
Kolinsky’s expression hadn’t changed, but Stone could feel the anticipation flowing off him in waves, even without magical sight. “So…I suppose you want to hear about my little adventure last night.”
“I do indeed. I assume you located the anomaly I discovered?”
“No—actually, I was attacked by a pack of overenthusiastic alligators.”
Kolinsky frowned.
“Sorry, sorry. Little private joke.” He sighed. “I…did. And it was an anomaly. That’s an understatement, actually.”
“Please, continue.” He settled back in chair, leaned back, and steepled his hands.
Stone noticed Kolinsky hadn’t offered him a chair, which was fine. He paced around the room as he delivered the story of what had occurred last night in Louisiana, forcing himself to speak slowly and methodically so he didn’t leave anything out.
The dragon listened with growing interest, though the only outward sign was that he leaned slightly forward in his chair. Occasionally, he took brief notes. When Stone finished, he remained silent for several seconds, staring off into space.
“Well?”
Kolinsky let his breath out and returned his gaze to Stone. “Your report troubles me.”
“Yes, join the club.”
“You are certain the rift was not a natural one?”
“It wasn’t anything like the others I’ve seen, if that’s what you mean. I’m still not convinced the other ones are exact
ly ‘natural,’ but that’s a discussion for another time. This one was a bloody rip in the fabric of reality, and I don’t even want to think about what it pointed at. I hope all those things popped away when I closed it, or we’re going to be hearing some very disturbing reports from the Louisiana area soon.”
“My sources have reported none as yet.”
“You checked?”
“Of course I did. I know where you went. When you returned…in the state you did…I became concerned.”
“So I didn’t tell you anything before I passed out?”
“No. You appeared outside the wards, entered the shop, and fell down my staircase. Fortunately, my wards are set to inform me instantly of any intruders.”
“Good thing, that.” He stopped pacing and focused on Kolinsky. “I haven’t got a bloody idea what that was about, Stefan. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Nor have I. I find it disturbing. You are certain you closed the tear completely?”
“Yes, that much I’m sure about. It wasn’t very large. Hang on—let me see if I can show you.” He stepped back, putting more space between the two of them, and closed his eyes so he could visualize the scene more fully. Then he wove an illusion, showing the rift itself, the spider-things as well as he could remember them, and the black tentacles.
Kolinsky studied it with narrowed eyes. “And you said the spiderlike creatures attacked you psychically as well as physically?”
“Yes.” He rubbed his head. “Let’s just say it’s one of the more unpleasant things I’ve done recently, and leave it at that. Have you got any idea what they might have been? Have you seen anything like them, or any of this, before?”
“I…do not, and I have not.” He got up and walked around the illusion, examining it from all sides.
Stone stepped out of the way, leaning against Kolinsky’s work table. “So you’re telling me that, as long as you’ve been around, this is new to you?” The thought chilled him. One of the things he’d found comforting after learning the dragon’s history was the confidence that he’d been on Earth long enough to have encountered most magical phenomena—especially given his curiosity about such things. The fact that something like this existed and he hadn’t seen it before meant it was likely new.
