by R. L. King
Razakal grunted.
She stopped pacing, uneasy for the first time. The oaths were in place. The ritual was done, and it couldn’t be undone. Razakal would be completely within his rights to claim the boy now, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing she could do about it. All she had was his word that he’d honor their agreement—
—just as all the boy had was her word that she’d honor the one she’d made with him.
And she knew exactly how much that was worth.
Razakal leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee, steepling his fingers and regarding her over the top of them with his glowing, glittering eyes. Finally, he inclined his head. “It will be so,” he said. “You will have your two years, to see your plan through. But no more. After that, he is mine.”
Her shoulders slumped in relief. She let her breath out, barely realizing she’d been holding it. “That’s all I ask,” she said. “Thank you.” She returned to the bed and dropped back to the pillows, taking the last drag from the dying joint. “You won’t regret it. You saw his potential, same as I did.”
“That is the only reason I am giving you this time. See that you do not disappoint me.” And then he was gone.
14
Ian called Stone back a little before seven that evening.
“So, have you decided you believe me after all? Did you do some checking up?”
“No. I haven’t decided yet, and I haven’t done any checking.” At least not any I’ve heard back about yet. “But I still think it’s possible, and I want to talk to you a bit more, if you’re willing.”
“Sure. I’ve got nothing else to do tonight. It’s pretty dead around here. So, were you able to help your friend?”
“Sort of.” He considered. He wasn’t ready to invite the boy to his house—not yet. Not until he was sure. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“Suppose I meet you at Alexander’s in Cupertino. It’s quite a nice steakhouse. I’ll buy you dinner, and at least if our chat doesn’t go well, you’ll get a good meal out of it. You’re not vegetarian, are you?”
“No. A steak sounds good.”
“Eight o’clock, then. I’ll see you there.”
Ian was waiting in the bar when Stone arrived. Once again he paused to scan the boy before he made his presence known, and once again that impressive two-toned aura lit up the place against the more subdued greens, yellows, blues, and other normal hues of the rest of the place’s patrons. Stone generally wasn’t a gambling man, but he would have staked a fair bit of money on the belief that Ian had significant magical potential, regardless of any family relationship.
“Did you have to wait long?” he asked, dropping his disregarding spell next to the table once more.
This time, Ian didn’t jump. “Only been here a few minutes.” He had a half-finished drink in front of him. “You’re really good at sneaking. I was looking for you, and I didn’t see you.”
Stone shrugged. “It’s a talent. Sorry—didn’t mean to disturb you. Come on—our table’s ready.”
They chatted about inconsequential topics until they’d gotten their drinks and placed their dinner orders. “Fancy place,” Ian said as he handed the menu to the server. “You must have money.”
“I do all right.”
“Well, yeah—teaching at Stanford, I guess you would.” He sipped his drink. “So, why did you call me tonight? You said you hadn’t decided yet, but you aren’t going to find out by watching me eat a steak.”
“No,” Stone admitted. “I’m not.” He leaned forward. “You’re not sure either, are you, Ian?”
“No. I already told you that. But after seeing you—after seeing that photo in Mom’s Bible—I’m pretty sure it’s true.”
“Given that evidence, I’m inclined to agree with you. But I never take anything at face value—especially not something as potentially life-changing as discovering I have a son I never knew about.”
“So…what do you want to do about it? Do you want to take a blood test? Because I’d be fine with that, if you want to go that way. I want to know too.”
“We could do that. I expect it would take several days, though.”
“That’s not too long, is it? I could stay a few days, or you could get back to me once you get the results.”
“I could,” Stone agreed, seeing an opening if he could convince the boy to go for it. “But…”
“But what?”
“Well…if you’re willing to trust me, I’ve got a friend at the University who could do it faster.”
Ian narrowed his eyes. “How much faster?”
“By tomorrow. I can call in a favor he owes me.”
He continued to look suspicious. “How do I know you won’t just tell me it came back negative, no matter what he finds?”
Stone sighed. He had no idea what this young man had been through in his life to make him so suspicious, but whatever it was, it must have been fairly profound. “Ian…whether you want to believe me or not, all I want is the truth. If you’re right—if you really are my son—then we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Why would I lie to you about something so important? I trust my friend—but if his test comes back negative, you’re absolutely welcome to have one of your own done to verify it. I’ll even pay for it.”
Ian considered. “Yeah. Okay. That’ll work.” He carved off a hunk of steak—as rare as Stone’s—and chewed thoughtfully. “So…how do we do it? Do you need a cheek swab? Do I have to spit in a bottle, or go somewhere and let your friend take blood?”
“No. Blood is best, but his methods are a bit—cutting edge. Experimental. If you prick your finger and give me something with the blood on it, that should be sufficient.” Stone watched him, keeping his gaze steady and his tone even.
“That’s…weird. But whatever. As long as I can do my own verification, I don’t care if you want toenail clippings for yours.”
“Those would work too,” Stone said dryly, “but they tend to frown on that in posh restaurants.” He settled back against the soft booth seat and sipped his wine. “So…tell me about your mum.”
“What’s to tell? I told you, we didn’t get along very well. I left as soon as I could.”
“Why? You said you didn’t get on with your stepfather. Was that the reason?”
Ian’s handsome features twisted. “Mostly, yeah. He never liked me, especially after he and Mom had another kid of their own.” He glanced up. “What was she like when you knew her? You said before that she ‘liked her nightlife.’”
“She did. I think she used the semester abroad to break free of what sounded like a fairly stifling lifestyle.”
“So you’re saying she slept around.” His flat voice held no judgment.
“She…did a lot of things her parents probably wouldn’t have approved of.”
He tilted his head. “You don’t exactly seem like the type who’d have gone for somebody like that.”
“Eh, you’d be surprised. I was going through a bit of a rough patch at the time, and Jessamy drew me out of my shell. Tell me—you said you thought your stepfather might have killed her. Was that exaggeration, or did you mean it?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? He took off after she died. He was gone by the time they tracked me down to tell me she was dead. They said it was an accident—that she tripped and hit her head in the bathroom—but I don’t believe it. I’d be surprised if the cops believed it either, but Bobby was a real pillar of the community, you know?” His lips curled around the words, making them sound like something shameful. “Local businessman, big deal at the church, a lot of people owed him favors, so…I think they gave him the benefit of the doubt. And then after he disappeared, I don’t think anybody looked too hard for him.”
“Did he mistreat her? Did he mistreat you?”
“Yeah. Is that what you wanted to hear? Yeah, he did. I told you he was an asshole.”
Stone let his breath out. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ian.”
&nb
sp; “I’m sure you are. But it happens, you know? More often than you think. Like I said, I got out. I did all right for myself. I’m sorry Mom’s dead, but I’m not sorry to be away from both of them. She used to be cool when I was a kid, but after she met Bobby he screwed her up in more ways than one. I hope when he ran off, he tried messing with the wrong guy and ended up in a ditch somewhere with a knife in his back.” His gaze grew challenging. “Does that shock you, hearing me say that?”
“No.” Once again, Stone wondered at what this boy’s life circumstances had been, to be full of so much anger at such a young age. Part of him, the part that could be every bit as suspicious as Ian was, wondered if the boy was trying to play on his sympathies with the story.
Easy enough to check. First things first, though. If he’s not my son, then I don’t need to care about any of this.
They finished their meal and their drinks, and Ian tossed his napkin on his plate. “Good steak. Thanks. I don’t get treated to dinners that high-end very often. So, you want the blood before I go?”
“It was my pleasure. And yes, if you’d be so kind. I’ll call you tomorrow after I know the results. Can you stay another day?”
“Sure. Like I said, I don’t have much going on right now.” He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then took out a pocketknife, cut a small corner off the clean part of his cloth napkin, and wadded up the rest on the plate so it didn’t show. Then he waved the knife blade over the candle flame in the middle of the table, and poked his finger. When a bead of blood welled up, he caught it with the napkin swatch and passed it across to Stone. “You sure that’s enough?”
“That will be fine. Thank you.” Stone tucked it away in his inner pocket.
“So…tell me something.”
Stone glanced up to see the boy regarding him with an odd, serious expression. “Yes?”
“Do you hope it’s true, or that it isn’t?”
He started to offer a glib answer, but stopped as he realized he didn’t know the answer—not completely. “I…hope we find the truth, either way,” he said at last. “When we do, we can go forward with whatever it turns out to be.”
Ian looked away with a little snort. “Why does that answer not surprise me?” He stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and hopefully I’ll know whether to call you Dr. Stone or Dad.”
15
Ian met Blake at a bar on the other side of town, slouching in and dropping to a seat across her in a semicircular booth a good deal less upscale than the one he’d occupied earlier that night.
“So,” she said, “how did it go? Have you convinced him yet?”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I gave him a blood sample, so he could have a ‘friend at the University’ do a DNA test.” He put contemptuous finger quotes around the words.
“So he wants to do a ritual. That’s no surprise.”
“I didn’t like giving him my blood, but this won’t work unless he knows for sure.”
She waved him off. “Eh, don’t worry about it. It’s not like he can find anything that’ll get you in trouble. He needs it to do the test, so he can’t even use it to track you—and even if he did, so what? He finds you in a bar. Big fucking surprise, there.” The server brought her another drink, and she paused to sip it. “So, do you think you can stand putting up with him for a month or so?”
“Oh, yeah. I can put up with anybody for a month, and I can play any role I need to.” He offered a fair imitation of her snaky grin. “He acts polite, but he doesn’t trust me at all.”
“Of course he doesn’t. He’s scared, but he’ll never show it. If you do turn out to be his son, you’re competition, and he won’t like that. But be careful—he’s a master manipulator. He’ll make the whole world think he’s some kind of charming, benevolent guy, but don’t believe him. He’ll try to make you think that. You know the type. He’s a lot smoother about it, but in his way, he’s just like Bobby. You’ve seen enough of that, right?”
Ian’s hand tightened on his glass. “Yeah. That’s exactly what Bobby did. Everybody else in town thought he was Father of the Year, and even when I tried telling them the truth, they didn’t believe me. I know the type. And Stone’s going down, just like Bobby did.”
She chuckled. “Not quite like Bobby did. Don’t forget, I want to watch him die, when he realizes his own son betrayed him. But yeah. That’s the plan. Are you sure he doesn’t suspect anything?”
“I’m sure. Like I said, he’s torn. It’s a drag that I had to stop doing magic so he doesn’t catch on, but it’s worth it. He didn’t even try to hide his aura, since he doesn’t think I have a chance of seeing it. He wants to believe it’s true, but he has to make sure. I guess he would be worried about some enemy gunning for him. I would be, if I were him.”
Her smile widened. “And the best part of it is, he’s right. And he’ll never see it coming.”
16
Twenty months ago
Bobby Tanner was having a shitty day.
It had started as soon as he’d rolled into work that morning at nine a.m., when he’d had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting some stupid bitch walking her rat dog in the parking lot and his cup of coffee from the Brewhaus had sloshed all over his lap and his ample belly. Good thing it was already lukewarm, or he’d have ended up with a scalded crotch like that idiot from McDonald’s a few years ago. He swore under his breath at the bitch, but flashed her a smile and a friendly wave out the window of his jacked-up Ford F250.
“Sorry I scared you!” he called, mopping at his lap with a napkin. Should’ve run you and that fucking runt mutt of yours over—that’d teach you to pay attention next time.
“Hey, Bobby!” Mel Garvey called as soon as he walked into the building-supply store. “What happened to you? Looks like you pissed yourself!” His tone was good-natured, though, not mocking.
Bobby briefly entertained the thought of clocking him with a hammer from a nearby display, but instead forced another grin and raised the coffee cup. “Just a little mishap out in the parking lot, that’s all. It’ll dry.” He disappeared into the back office before he said anything he’d regret.
His damp lap and Mel’s disrespect proved to be only the first of several things going wrong over the course of the morning. First, he found out the order he’d been expecting today had been delayed, meaning Darrell Burns and his contracting crew wouldn’t have the materials they’d need for their job. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, either. The damn suppliers needed to get off their asses and make good on their delivery dates—it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t fill the orders if he didn’t get the stuff in on time.
Second, Andy Bucklin, the kid he hired to come in afternoons and clean up the store, called to say he was sick and couldn’t make it in today. Yeah, right, he thought as he hung up the phone, staring down at the remains of the sandwich the damn sub shop had gotten wrong despite his careful phone order. He’s probably off screwing his girlfriend. Damn kids today have no moral character, and their parents are too permissive about it.
That thought brought back memories of his stepson, Ian. He wondered sometimes where the useless little pansy had taken off to, but he didn’t really care as long as he was gone. He wondered, too, if Jessamy had ever tried to look for him. He heard her crying sometimes in the other room late at night when she thought he was asleep, and every time he heard it his anger rose. He didn’t do anything about it, though—not usually, anyway. She was a good wife and mother most of the time. Obedient and quiet, like a woman ought to be, and she took good care of their son Mikey. He loved her, but sometimes she made him so angry.
A lot of things made Bobby Tanner angry, if truth be told.
A soft knock sounded on his door. “Hey, Bobby?”
Bobby looked up. Mel Garvey stood in the doorway, looking apologetic.
“Sorry to bother you, boss.”
“No, it’s fine.” It wasn’t difficult for Bobby to force jovial cheer onto his face—he’d be
en doing it for years, and by now he was a master at it. “What’s up, Mel?”
“This came for you.” Mel held up a sealed envelope.
“Huh?” Why would Mel be bringing him a single envelope, out of all the stuff they usually got in every day? And besides, it was Becky’s job to deal with the mail, not his. “Mail’s not here yet, is it?”
“This ain’t mail. I found it on the front counter. Somebody musta dropped it off.” He tossed it on Bobby’s desk. Bobby Tanner was printed on the front.
“Somebody? Who?”
Mel shrugged. “I dunno. It was there when I got back to the register. I gotta get back to work.”
Bobby watched him go, then looked down at the envelope again. It was small, not business-size, so it probably wasn’t anybody dropping off a resume, and it probably wasn’t a bill. He didn’t recognize the handwriting.
Curious, he grabbed a letter opener and slit it open.
A single folded page was inside. He unfolded it and scanned the few words written there.
If you go to Buccaneer’s Cove at three this afternoon, you might see something interesting.
Bobby’s hand tightened on the note. What the hell did that mean, you might see something interesting? The Buccaneer’s Cove was a dive bar out on the edge of town—the kind of place where sinful people got together for illicit meetings. Definitely not a place a good, churchgoing man like himself would be likely to frequent.
