by R. L. King
He sighed, finished his pint, and glanced at his watch. Just after noon. No point in speculating about it now—he’d know one way or the other soon. Under cover of studying the wine list, he focused on the host’s stand. Two khaki-clad tech workers entered and were seated, followed by three laughing women.
Was the boy not coming? Maybe the whole point of this nonsense had been nothing more than to lure him out to a known location. But why? This wasn’t—
The door opened again and a slim figure entered. In the bar, Stone tightened his grip on his glass.
Whoever was behind this, they’d done their homework. The young man who conferred softly with the host wore jeans, a blue T-shirt, and stylish black leather jacket over a trim, athletic frame. Stone couldn’t get a good look at his features from this angle, but his dark-brown hair was artfully tousled, and he stood with a relaxed, easy confidence.
Stone continued to watch him as the host led him toward the back of the restaurant, then shifted to magical sight before they disappeared down the hallway.
Bloody hell, they did do their homework.
The silver-and-violet aura shone bright and clear against the heavy, dark paneling lined with framed photos of former customers. Stone stood while barely realizing he’d done it, trailing just close enough so he could keep it in sight.
It didn’t necessarily mean anything, of course. Mundanes could, and did, sometimes have dual-colored auras. It was rare, but it happened. Calm down. This is what they want you to do. He quickly ducked into the men’s room and dropped the illusion, then put up a disregarding spell and slipped down the hall toward the rear dining room.
Ian Woodward sat at a small table in the back, munching a breadstick as he scanned the room. He still appeared mostly relaxed, but his aura held anticipation and a hint of tension. His gaze skated over Stone, lighting on him for only a second before continuing on.
Stone walked to the table and released the disregarding spell. “Ian Woodward, I presume?”
The boy jumped a little, but his expression quickly settled on an unruffled smile. He studied Stone, looking him up and down. “Dr. Stone.”
Stone removed his black wool overcoat and draped it over a chair, then took the one across from Ian. “I must admit, your call last night came as quite a shock.”
“I’m not surprised.” Ian made no attempt to hide his frank examination of Stone.
Stone returned it. He took in the young man’s narrow, handsome face, his angular features, his thin, mocking lips and shrewd gray eyes under sculpted brows, one of which sported a silver piercing. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny they shared a strong resemblance. After nearly twenty years he no longer had a clear memory of the specifics of Jessamy Woodward’s appearance, but he could nonetheless pick out hints of her in Ian as well.
“So,” Ian said, looking amused. “Do you believe me now?”
“Not yet, to be honest. I’ve got a lot of questions for you.” Stone picked up the menu, perused it briefly, then tossed it back on the table. He didn’t care what he ate today; whatever he chose, he doubted he’d even taste it.
“I figured you would. I’ve got some for you too.”
The waitress came by and took their orders. Ian ordered a glass of Chianti, producing his ID when requested, but Stone didn’t question him about it.
“You don’t look old enough to be my father. I thought you’d be a little more…”
Stone raised an eyebrow.
“Nerdy, maybe? Especially after I found out you were a college professor.”
“How did you find out about me, after all this time? Assuming you are who you say you are, it seems odd you’d wait this long to contact me. What changed?”
Ian’s expression sobered. “My mother died.”
Stone blinked. “Jessamy’s dead? But she was only—”
“Thirty-seven. Yeah. It was an accident. I didn’t hear about it until a few months later. I’d already left home by that point and moved out to L.A. We…didn’t get along very well.”
“Well…I’m sorry to hear that.” Stone spotted more agitation in Ian’s aura now, but that made sense given what they were discussing. “But that still doesn’t tell me why you think I’m your father.”
Ian’s wine arrived, along with another pint for Stone. He paused to sip it before continuing. “They tracked me down to tell me she’d died. It took them a while to find me, since I was using another name. Her husband—my stepfather—had taken off by then. They think he might have killed her. I wouldn’t put it past him.” His tone twisted with bitterness. “The authorities are still trying to find him. I hope he’s dead somewhere too, honestly. He’d deserve it. But anyway, I went back to their place and found some of her old stuff. Papers, photos, that kind of thing. One of the things I found was an old journal where she wrote about her semester-abroad thing in England. A lot of it was tough to read—it looks like she partied pretty hard a lot of the time—but I kept finding mentions of some guy named Alastair. A couple other guys, too.”
“So? Your mother was quite popular. As you said, she enjoyed the nightlife.”
“Yeah. But I also found this.” He pulled something from his inside jacket pocket and tossed it across the table.
It was a Polaroid snapshot. Stone picked it up, frowning, and pulled it closer. The twenty-year-old colors had faded, but it clearly depicted several people clustered together in what looked like the back room of the Dancing Dragon in London. Jessamy, clad in a low-cut, sleeveless top of shimmering pale green, grinned at the camera as she bent forward, flashing her cleavage. Her arm was draped around the shoulder of a slim young man with spiky dark hair and a black Buzzcocks T-shirt, who raised a half-full pint glass in salute to the unseen photographer.
“Bloody hell…” Stone murmured, staring at the image. Had he ever been that young? He forced himself to raise his gaze to Ian. “Your mum had this?” He flipped it over. On the back, scrawled in faded blue ink, it read With Alastair Stone, December, London. Good times!
“Yeah. She didn’t have a lot of photos of that part of her life. I think Bobby—that’s my stepfather—made her get rid of them. I found that one stuck between some pages in her Bible.”
Stone studied the photo for a few more seconds, then pushed it back to Ian. “So you decided to do a bit of investigation?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t do a lot, since I didn’t have much money. I couldn’t go to England or anything. But I asked a friend to check around, and he found some references to you, out here. I figured since you’re from England and you’re about the right age, it would be worth a shot.” He tucked the photo back in his pocket, leaned back, and took, another sip of wine as he fixed Stone with an appraising gaze. “Now that I see you in person, I’m pretty sure I made the right call. Aren’t you?”
Stone shifted to magical sight. He still saw no sign of deception in Ian’s aura; the brilliant silver and purple nimbus barely budged, except for brief and expected flashes of anticipation and uneasiness. “I can’t deny the resemblance,” he said at last. “But resemblances aren’t everything. And I’ve got my reasons for wanting more verification.”
“What reasons?” Ian’s voice took on a slight edge as he leaned forward. “I get it—it’s pretty shocking to discover you have a son you knew nothing about. But just to set your mind at ease—I’m not after anything. I don’t want your money, and I know after all this time we aren’t going to be best friends or anything. I just wanted to meet you. Everything else can wait.”
Stone raised a hand as he detected increased tension in the boy’s aura. “Now, hold on. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He wondered if Ian—or whoever was responsible for setting him on Stone’s path—knew about his recent inheritances. That would be a plausible reason for the sudden appearance, without a doubt. Even though Stone hadn’t appreciably changed his lifestyle following the fortune his old master had bequeathed him, it wouldn’t be difficult for someone with motivation to track down the details. And what bet
ter way to secure a portion of that windfall than to convince him he’d fathered an heir during his university days? “Tell me about yourself, why don’t you? Where do you come from?” He listened closely to the answers. Perhaps if he could catch the boy in an inconsistency, he could put this whole thing to rest.
Or not…the little voice in his head said. Because you’re starting to think this might not be a scam after all, aren’t you?
“I’m living in Los Angeles now. I grew up in Winthrop. That’s a little town in Ohio.”
Stone still couldn’t remember the name of the town Jessamy said she was from, but he didn’t think that was it. “Did she finish University when she returned from England?”
“No. Once she discovered she was pregnant with me, she dropped out. Her parents were pretty strict and religious—I guess I should be grateful for that, since it’s probably why I’m still here.” He didn’t sound grateful, though.
“Anyway,” he continued, “for whatever reason Mom decided to keep me, but she wouldn’t tell anybody who the father was. I don’t know why—nobody would talk to me, and when I asked questions they told me it wasn’t my business.”
“It must have been difficult, raising you alone.” Stone kept his voice noncommittal, but continued watching Ian’s aura. “Did her parents help her, at least?”
“My grandmother did. My grandfather disowned her and kicked her out of the house.” Now the bitterness was obvious.
Ouch. “That’s—horrible. I’m sorry to hear it.”
Ian shrugged. “It’s over now. We made it. Grandma would send Mom money my grandfather didn’t know about, but she didn’t approve either. Like I said, they were really religious, so single unwed mothers weren’t exactly their thing.”
“You mentioned a stepfather.”
“Yeah.” This time Ian’s aura did flare. “Bobby Tanner. Mom met him at church when I was ten—by that time, she’d pretty much given up and gone back. I think Grandma insisted as a condition for helping her out.” His lips twisted in disgust.
“You didn’t get along with him.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Why not?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Where should I start? He was an asshole. Grandma and Grandpa were religious, but at least it was the normal kind of religious. Bobby was hardcore about it. The real fanatical, ‘the man is the head of the house and will be obeyed’ kind of thing.”
Stone tensed. “He mistreated your mother?”
Their orders arrived. Ian picked at his veal parmigiana, took another drink of wine, and shrugged. “You know what, that’s not really what I want to talk about, or why I came here to find you. Like I said, all that’s in the past. Mom’s dead now, and Bobby’s gone. I just want to forget about that part of my life, you know?”
“Fair enough.” Stone wished the quick study of auras could reveal blood relationships—it would make all of this a lot easier. But it didn’t work that way. In order to determine with certainty whether Ian truly was his son, he’d either need to do a ritual or commission a mundane paternity test. To do either, he’d need things that would be difficult and unethical to obtain without permission: blood for both tests, or clippings from the boy’s hair or nails for the magical one. He didn’t think they’d reached the point where he could ask for such things yet—although if he suggested a paternity test and the boy balked, that would provide him with useful information all on its own.
“What about you?” Ian was asking. “What do you do? My friend said you teach at Stanford—is that right?”
“It is. I’ve been over here for about ten years.”
“Were you some kind of child prodigy? I still can’t believe you’re as old as you’re supposed to be.”
Stone shrugged. “What can I say? I can show you my driver’s license if you like. I teach Occult Studies.” Once again, he watched Ian carefully for a reaction.
“What’s that? They have college courses about witches and summoning demons?”
“Sort of. It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
Ian didn’t seem terribly interested in pursuing it. “So, are you married? Any other kids?”
“No. Never married.”
The boy flashed him a quick, sharp glance, then nodded. He finished his meal and dropped his napkin onto his plate. “Yeah, okay. Well…I’ll be honest with you, Dr. Stone. I don’t know whether you’re my dad or not. It sure looks like you could be. But I’m getting the impression you don’t really want to find out either way. That’s fine. Like I said, I’m not looking to get anything from you, even if it’s true. I don’t think you owe me anything. I just wanted to meet you, and see what kind of man you are. So I guess—”
Stone couldn’t miss the arcing flares in Ian’s aura now: frustration, anger, disappointment. If it is true, I’m doing a bloody brilliant job of alienating him, aren’t I? “Ian—don’t go yet. You’ve got to understand: it’s—complicated. I’ve got to—”
On the table next to his plate, his phone buzzed. Without thinking, he picked it up and checked the display, figuring he could let it go to voicemail. His grip tightened when he recognized the number.
It was Myra Lindstrom’s.
“Please—excuse me just a moment,” he said. “I’ve got to take this.”
Ian shrugged, with a careless wave.
Stone kept an eye on him while he spoke, half expecting him to get up and leave. “Yes, this is Stone.”
“Dr. Stone?” Myra Lindstrom’s voice shook; she sounded frightened.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Oh, Dr. Stone, I don’t know what to do. It’s horrible.”
“Calm down, Ms. Lindstrom. Please. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
Her deep, shuddering breath rattled over the line. “I—oh, God, it’s terrible. They—they found Amy.”
Damn. He lowered his voice to a whisper, turning his head away from Ian. “Dead?”
“Yes…she’s—she’s dead. But…there’s more to it than that. Can you come over? I hate to bother you again, but—”
“Yes. Yes, I can come over. I’m in San Jose now. Are you alone? Are you all right?”
“Y-yes. I did what you suggested, and reported her missing. The police—they’d…already found her. They just left. They…came by to ask me questions.”
“All right. I’ll come straight away. You just stay there, and be careful.” He broke the connection, slipped the phone back in his pocket, and faced Ian.
“You have to go,” the boy said. His tone was flat.
“Yes. Unfortunately, this isn’t something I can put off. But I do want to talk with you more—to explain some things to you. How much longer are you in town?”
He shrugged. “Does it matter? I should be getting back home. It doesn’t look like this is going anywhere.”
Stone leaned across the table. Suddenly, the compulsion to grab the boy’s arm and force him not to go gripped him with unexpected intensity, but he couldn’t do that. “Listen,” he said with more urgency. “I’m a bit rubbish at this whole relationship thing—as you might have guessed. I still don’t know whether you really are my son, but I think it might be possible. And I certainly don’t want to let that slip away from me, if it’s true. Not after all this time. Please—just stay another day or two. If it’s an issue of money—”
“No, I’ve got it covered.” Ian studied him for a few seconds in silence, as if taking his measure. “Okay. I’ll stay another day at least.” He wrote a something on a scrap of paper and handed it over. “That’s my number. If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow, I’ll assume you just decided to bail on the whole thing. Okay?”
“I won’t,” Stone assured him. He put the paper in his pocket. “I’m sorry about this, Ian, but it can’t be helped. A—friend is in trouble.”
“Yeah. Well, go on, then. I hope you can help them.”
Stone might have missed the subtle bitterness in his tone, if it had
n’t been for his aura.
8
Absent last night’s rain, Myra Lindstrom’s trim little Victorian looked somehow subdued—still neat and well kept, but the light of day revealed fading paint and drooping eaves. Stone looked around as he pulled up in front of the place, but didn’t see any police cars parked nearby. As he strode up the walk and mounted the front steps, he spotted the curtain on the side window slipping back into place, as if she had been watching for him.
She answered on his first knock. “Oh, Dr. Stone, thank you so much for coming. I’m so sorry to bother you again so soon, but—” She wore another neat, old-fashioned dress, but her hair didn’t show the same careful attention as before. A white wisp hung down over her worried eyes.
“It’s quite all right. Tell me what’s happened.”
She led him back into the same sitting room where they’d talked the previous night. “Let me get us some tea. I need something to calm my nerves.”
He took a seat and waited for her to return with the tea. “You said the police were here?”
“Yes.” She puttered around pouring tea, then perched on the edge of the sofa. “I called them this morning, just as you suggested. I told them Amy was a friend who sometimes helped me out with household tasks—I couldn’t very well tell them she was my magical apprentice, could I?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well…as soon as I described her, the person asked me to hold. And then a detective came on the line. He was very nice. But…”
“He told you they’d found her.”
She nodded, clutching her teacup. “They—wouldn’t tell me much about the specifics, but the detective asked if he and his partner could come by to ask me some questions.”
