by R. L. King
Stone dropped the spell and paused, continuing to examine the area below the duct. Why had they killed Amy here? Did this place have some significance for them, or was it merely convenient? Unfortunately, magical sight gave him no clue, and it looked as if the police had done a thorough investigation for mundane evidence.
Still considering possibilities, he retraced his steps to the front, popped the lock again, and slipped outside. He hoped Eddie would get back to him soon with more information about Portas Justitiæ, because right now he had nothing else to go on.
He was about to head back to his car when he spotted movement near the end of the building. It looked like someone had been watching him surreptitiously, and quickly disappeared when they noticed they’d been spotted.
Let’s see what you’re up to, then. With another quick glance to make sure nobody was watching him, he settled an invisibility spell around him, then levitated up to the roof and over to the edge. If the figure hadn’t taken off running, it should still be visible.
Stone was in luck this time: the man hadn’t run away. He spotted him instantly: a hunched figure in an oversized coat, shuffling toward the rear side of the building. Probably one of the local homeless population, scared of being noticed. He’d left a bulging trash bag behind, spilling empty, crushed aluminum cans into the alleyway.
Stone levitated behind the building, dropped his invisibility spell, and stepped out to intercept the man just as he rounded the corner. “Please,” he said, holding up a hand. “I won’t hurt you. Don’t run away.”
The homeless man staggered backward, bloodshot eyes getting big under a knit cap pulled low over his forehead. “I—I don’t know nothin’, man.” He cast a furtive glance back over his shoulder, as if worried someone would grab his bag of cans. “How’d you get there?”
“Get where?”
Once more, the man’s head swiveled as he took in Stone and then the area back toward the street. “You—you were—back there.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Stone said. “Go on—go get your bag. Do you live around here?”
“Sometimes,” the guy said warily. “I live lotsa places.”
“Go on. I’ll wait. But if you’ll talk to me, I’ll make it worth your while.” As was his habit whenever dealing with the homeless, Stone looked around for Forgotten symbols, even though he hadn’t seen any for years. None showed up among the graffiti along the wall.
“Talk to you ’bout what?” The man’s voice was slurred and hard to understand. He edged backward, never taking his eyes off Stone, until he reached his fallen bag. Still watching, he crouched and began stuffing spilled cans back into it.
Stone followed him, but not too closely. “Do you know anything about this place?” He indicated the wall.
“What place?”
“This one, here at the end.”
The man finished stuffing cans back in and hefted the bag. He looked even more nervous than before. “Nah, man. I don’t know nothin’” His aura belied his words, flaring bright red around its muddy, patchy yellow. “I—I gotta go.”
“Please,” Stone said, with an encouraging smile. “I know that’s not the truth. You do know something. And if you’ll tell me what it is, I’ll give you this.” He pulled a twenty from his pocket and held it where the man could see it.
The man’s gaze locked on the bill. He still looked scared, though. “I…dunno…You ain’t a cop, are you?”
“No. I’m not a cop. Here.” He held out the twenty. “Take it. I just want to chat for a moment.”
The homeless man glanced around again, then slowly plucked the bill from Stone’s hand without touching him. “Whadda y’wanna know? I can’t stay long. Got…places to be, y’know?”
“Of course, I understand. Do you know someone was found dead inside this building the other day?”
His aura flared again, but he nodded. “Yeah. Cops were here. I didn’t get close.”
“Do you know anything else about it?”
“Heard it was a girl. Not from around here.”
“You don’t know anything about who might have done it, do you? Anything you might have heard?”
The man’s suspicious gaze sharpened. “You sure you ain’t a cop?”
“I promise you, I’m not. I’m—just investigating this on my own. I know someone who knew the young woman who was killed.”
“Sorry, man,” he mumbled. “That’s rough.”
Stone hadn’t expected sympathy from the man. “Thank you. My friend is quite upset, as you might expect. She’s an elderly lady, and she and the victim were close. So if there’s anything else you can tell me that might help—”
The man thought about it for several seconds, picking at one of his fingernails. “Sorry, man, I wish I could help ya. Hear they found the girl hangin’ from the ceiling. That ain’t s’posed to happen. But I didn’t see nothin’.”
This time, his aura didn’t flare. Auras weren’t lie detectors, but Stone had noticed an increase in his sensitivity to their nuances ever since he’d returned from Calanar. He was fairly sure the man was telling the truth. “All right. Thank you.” He pulled another twenty from his pocket and offered it. “One more question, if I may.”
“Yeah, okay.” He didn’t take the money yet, but once again eyed it with longing.
“Do you know what the purpose of this place was, before it was abandoned?”
The man’s dirty, stubbled face brightened. “Oh, yeah, man. That I do know.” He patted the wall. “It was a church.”
Stone blinked. “A church? Really? In a strip mall?”
“Yeah. Lots of ’em in areas like this. Cheaper to rent than those big fancy places, y’know? I think it mighta been somethin’ else b’fore that, but for a while b’fore the whole building went tits-up, folks used to come here for church. I went one time, just to get outta the rain. Didn’t feel too welcome, though, y’know? They were weird—pretty intense. So I left. And they didn’t last long. Prob’ly ran outta money or somethin’, or maybe they was just squattin’ there and somebody run ’em out.” He shrugged. “Happens. I dunno.” Once again, he cast a glance at the twenty Stone still held.
Stone gave it to him. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, and I appreciate it. You don’t happen to remember the name of the church, do you? Or what any of the people looked like?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. I was pretty wasted when I went in there. Don’t remember much. Hey, I gotta go. Thanks for the money.”
“You’re quite welcome.” Stone watched him, distracted, as he shuffled back the way he’d come with his trash bag full of empty cans clattering behind him.
So the building where Amy Detmire had been murdered had been a church, with “weird, intense” members. That sounded like it could be connected with Portas Justitiæ—at least enough to investigate further. Maybe Flores would know something about the place.
He pulled out his phone as he was walking back to the car, but before he could punch in the captain’s number, it buzzed.
The display showed Ian’s number.
Instantly, Stone’s heart began pounding and tension gripped his body. Just answer it, he told himself, annoyed. You can’t avoid it forever—it’s not fair to either of you.
Before he could stop himself, he hit the button. “Ian. Thank you for returning my call.” He kept walking toward the car as he spoke.
“You said you wanted to talk about something. Did you get the results back from your friend?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And—I’d like to talk in person, if that’s all right. Hardly seems the sort of thing to deal with over the phone.” He deliberately kept his voice even and neutral, so as not to give anything away before he was ready.
“Why can’t you just tell me now?”
“I’d rather do it face to face. Are you available to meet?”
“That’s the only reason I’ve been staying up here, so yeah. Where?”
Once aga
in, Stone thought about inviting Ian to his home, but hesitated. It might be best to see how the meeting went before he did that. “Have you had lunch?”
“No.”
Stone wasn’t sure he could pick out a hint of bitterness in the single word, but he thought it might be possible. Damn, I’m already buggering this up, aren’t I? “Or you could come to my place if you like,” he said quickly.
“Lunch is fine. Just tell me where.”
For a moment, Stone’s brain seized up and he couldn’t think of a single restaurant that seemed right for such a revelation. “Er—”
“There’s a Thai place just up the street from here. Bangkok Lotus.” Now Ian sounded amused, and just a bit mocking. “Will that work?”
“Er—yes. That will be fine. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Can’t wait to hear the big news.” The mocking was unmistakable at this point.
19
Fourteen months ago
Even after studying with Blake for nearly a year, Ian sometimes still couldn’t believe how much his life had changed.
He lounged by the pool in the backyard of her Topanga Canyon home—his home too, since he’d moved in to her guest house when they’d started their training together—sipping a margarita and watching the midday sun dance over the water as he worked on his tan.
Blake was away, gone off somewhere since earlier that morning. He didn’t ask her where she went, just as she never asked him. Aside from their magical training sessions and the parties she turned him on to, they lived their separate lives and left each other alone. It worked out well for both of them.
She’d certainly kept up her end of the bargain. Ten months after he’d started his studies, he knew how to cast circles, perform magical rituals, disguise himself, turn himself invisible, and build simple wards and illusions. She’d also taught him a shield and some potent combat techniques, which he took to well and practiced often. Jose hadn’t come after him—he wasn’t sure whether the man had simply given up after Blake had taken his men apart or whether he simply hadn’t found him yet—but either way, he was ready if it happened. Unlike Blake, who seemed to revel in her power and the way she could intimidate people with it, Ian didn’t feel compelled to flex his magical muscles. Knowing he could handle anything mundanes came at him with was enough to increase his confidence.
She’d also taught him something else—something he wasn’t quite as comfortable with, but he supposed it was a reasonable trade-off for having all this power at his command. Still, the first night she’d taken him to one of her parties shortly after they’d begun and explained to him what she’d be demonstrating, he’d balked.
“You want me to drain energy from other people? Like a vampire or something?”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ian. It’s nothing. You want power for your magic, that’s the way you have to get it. You don’t have to hurt them—you can drain a little bit from several people if you want, and they’ll just get tired. Parties are the best place to do it, because the energy level’s high and people expect to feel a little wasted.”
When he’d still hesitated, she’d gripped his shoulder, her hard eyes glittering. “Listen, Ian—you agreed to follow my rules for learning magic. Do you want to bail already? I’m telling you, it’s no big deal. Everybody does it, and we can’t go much further with your training until you accept it. Do you want power, or do you want to be a squeamish little pussy?”
Reluctantly, he’d agreed. The party, which was in Westwood and featured several B-list Hollywood luminaries, plentiful liquor and drugs, and a small-scale orgy in the back room, had been amazing—and so had claiming his share of the wild energy flowing as freely as the other indulgences. He’d followed Blake’s directions, bleeding small amounts of power from several different people, including a handsome young stuntman he’d bedded in one of the other back rooms. Afterward, as he’d crept away from the room leaving the stuntman deeply slumbering and satisfied, he reveled in the feeling of the power singing through his body. He felt as if he were walking on air, effortless, and couldn’t imagine how everybody at the party couldn’t see the bright glow around his body.
Blake, lounging near the bar, grinned at him when he reappeared. “See what I mean?”
“Oh, yeah.” He knew he sounded slurred, almost drunk, but he didn’t care.
“So we won’t have any more trouble with you getting power?”
He shook his head. He couldn’t wait to do that again—it felt so good. Almost as good as sex. “No problem at all.”
Now, lounging by the pool and waiting for her to return so they could get in their session before he’d leave for another party tonight, he smiled. He had power—more than he let on, in fact. He’d learned early on, starting in his first few days of acquaintance with Blake, that she had secrets. She wasn’t telling him everything, and he was sure she wasn’t teaching him everything she could be. That was fine with him—everybody had things they hid from others—but it also meant he didn’t feel guilty about not letting her in on all his secrets, either.
Like the fact that he was holding back his power during their sessions, and only testing his limits when she wasn’t around.
She could go on thinking of him as a naïve kid, an empty vessel for her to fill with whatever knowledge she was willing to share with him. That was all right—it wasn’t anything new. A lot of people underestimated him because of his youth, and he’d learned to use that to his advantage. As long as the two of them were useful to each other, as long as Blake continued to teach him how to control and manipulate his magic, he’d stick around. At least until she revealed his father’s identity, anyway.
So far, she’d refused to do that, telling him he still wasn’t ready to face the man. That was okay too—he had time. He could be patient. The more he learned, the more he practiced, the better chance he’d have when the time finally came.
He could wait.
He sat up on his lounge now, glancing around the spacious patio. Maybe he’d have a swim, then go take a shower. Already he was looking forward to both the magic session and the party—perhaps the latter a little more than the former.
His phone rang, on the table next to his drink.
He picked it up, figuring it was either Blake telling him she’d be late, or one of the guys he’d met at the various parties. The number looked unfamiliar, though. “Hello?”
“Ian Woodward?”
Immediate bells went off—he hadn’t used that name since he moved to Los Angeles. Most of his friends knew him as “E,” and even those who knew his real first name didn’t know his last. “Who’s this?”
“My name is Mary Lawson. I’m with the Winthrop First Baptist Church. I’m looking for Ian Woodward, the son of Jessamy Tanner. Is that you?”
Something inside Ian clenched. Had his mother finally suffered an attack of guilt and decided to look for him, after all this time? “Why?”
There was a pause. “I have some information about Mrs. Tanner. Are you Ian Woodward?”
“Yeah. I’m Ian. But you can tell her I’m not coming back. I’m eighteen now, and she can’t make me. Tell her it’s too late to try making anything up to me.”
Another pause. “Mr. Woodward…Ian…I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but we’ve been trying to locate you for quite some time. Jessamy Tanner has died.”
“What?” Ian stiffened, leaning forward on the lounge. His mother was dead? “How? When?”
“It’s been several months now. I’m sorry—as I said, we’ve had quite a bit of trouble tracking you down.”
“What happened to her?”
“It was an accident. She slipped in her bathroom following a shower, and struck her head on the sink.”
Ian was silent, his body tingling with shock and astonishment. His mother hadn’t been that old—only in her late thirties. People her age didn’t slip in the bathroom and brain themselves on sinks. That was something that happened to old people.
“Mr. Woodw
ard?”
“Uh—yeah. Sorry. Just a little…shocked.”
“I understand. I’m so sorry to have to bring you such bad news.”
“Yeah…” His brain spun, trying to make sense of everything he was hearing. “When did she die? Can you tell me the details? How long have you been trying to find me?”
“The accident occurred about six months ago. Her husband found her and called for help right away, but unfortunately it was too late.”
“Her husband.” Once again, something inside Ian tightened. He hadn’t gotten along with his mother very well since she’d married Bobby—since she’d begun taking his side against her own son—but he still couldn’t completely drive off the fonder memories of their earlier days together, when it had been just the two of them. She’d sacrificed a lot for him, including her college career, and she’d done her best to make sure he had what he needed. Before Bobby came.
Fucking Bobby.
He spat the words out before he realized what he was saying: “Are you sure that bastard didn’t kill her?”
“What?” Mary Lawson sounded surprised.
“Her husband. Bobby Tanner. He’s an abusive asshole. Are you sure he didn’t kill her? Did they even investigate?”
“Mr. Woodward, I can’t really speak to any of that. I’m not with the police, and I don’t have any access to the investigation. I’m only calling to inform you of Mrs. Tanner’s death. Perhaps you might like to visit, or collect some of her personal effects, or…”
“Is he still around?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Bobby. Is he still there?”
“Well—yes, of course he is. As I said—”
“Okay. Thanks. You did your duty. Just give me the address and you’re good to go.”
The woman seemed flustered, as if this conversation wasn’t going at all the way she’d expected. “Er—yes, of course.” She gave Ian the address—it was the same one he’d run away from, so apparently they hadn’t moved since he’d taken off—and once again offered her condolences.
