by R. L. King
Inwardly, Ian smiled at her look of growing sympathy. That had been one of his better speeches, with just the right tone of worry and faint desperation. He made a mental note to try out for some more acting roles when he got back to Los Angeles.
Verity reached across the table and gripped his hand. “Ian—you’ve got to believe me. That’s not the way he is. I know you must have had a long time to develop an image of what he’s like, but I promise you, whatever it is, it’s not right. He’s a good man. If he thinks you’re worthwhile, he’ll move mountains for you. He’ll risk his life for you. Hell, he’d die for you. You don’t meet too many people like that in your life. You’ve just got to give him a chance.”
Ian glanced up again, switching to magical sight. Her aura shone bright and steady. She believed everything she was saying. In spite of himself, he found he liked her. She had a refreshing combination of no-nonsense candor and playful amusement he found appealing. “Yeah,” was all he said.
She reclaimed her hand and concentrated on her burrito for several moments, not meeting his gaze. He was about to say something when she cast him a quick glance. “Ian…”
“Yeah?”
She looked suddenly uncomfortable: the facial equivalent of a nervous fidget, unlike her usual confidence. “I want to ask you something else. I promise I won’t say anything about it to Doc, and you can tell me to mind my own business if you want.”
He frowned, tensing. Had she seen something in his aura? Did she suspect he was holding back on his magical abilities? She couldn’t know anything about Blake, could she? “Uh…sure. Go ahead.”
Her discomfort didn’t lessen. She leaned in and dropped her volume, but her voice was steady. “Are you worried about what your dad will think if he finds out you’re gay?”
All of Ian’s aura control couldn’t stop his reaction, and he knew it. He stiffened, and stared hard at her. “What…?”
Now her tone was gentle. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
His mind spun as he tried to decide on the best response. He’d already revealed himself, and he knew she’d seen it, so there was no point in hiding. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t know for sure.” She flashed him an amused but kind smile. “But I had a pretty good idea.”
“How?”
The smile widened, but still there was no mocking in it. “At dinner the other night. Not too many straight nineteen-year-old guys would spend more time checking out Jason than me.”
Ian mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t thought he’d been obvious, but Verity’s tall, athletic, surfer-blond brother had tripped several of his buttons. He froze. If Verity had noticed, then— “Did Dad notice too?”
“I doubt it. He doesn’t tend to notice that kind of thing. And before you ask, Jason didn’t either. He’s downright oblivious about it. But why is it a problem if Doc noticed? It’s not like he’ll care.”
“Yeah, sure.” Ian didn’t bother to keep the bitterness from his tone as images of Bobby came back to his mind. And Bobby wasn’t even his real father.
Her eyes narrowed. “Where did that come from?”
“Of course he’s going to care.” He sighed. “He didn’t tell you about my stepfather, did he?”
“He mentioned you had a rough time, but I thought that was just because he was really strict.”
“Strict. Yeah, that’s a good word for it, if ‘strict’ means ‘treated me like crap and put me in the hospital when he found out I’m gay.’”
Her eyes got big. “Ian…that’s horrible. He put you in the hospital? He beat you up?”
“Yeah. More than once—the beatings, anyway. Usually he kept them more subtle so he didn’t do any permanent damage, or anything that showed. I think he suspected for a long time, but when he found out for sure, I guess he couldn’t control himself.”
“Shit…” she whispered. Anger showed in her glittering eyes. “I’m so sorry. It’s no wonder you ran away from home.”
“Yeah.” He covered his emotions by taking another bite. “That’s all in the past now—Mom’s dead, and I think Bobby killed her. I can’t prove it, of course. And now he’s disappeared, so I can’t even ask him.” He met her gaze. “But I think you can see why I’m not in a hurry to go through something like that again, when I’ve just met my real dad.”
“Ian—look at me.”
He brought his gaze up to meet hers.
“Doc isn’t like that. I promise you. He won’t care.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that.”
“How? How can you be sure?”
“I’ve known him for years. And he doesn’t care with me.”
“You?” He shot her a surprised glance.
“Yeah. I’m bi. I’ve had several girlfriends while we’ve been studying together, and he doesn’t give a damn. It’s none of his business anyway, but why should he?”
He snorted. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“What don’t I get?”
“It’s not the same. It’s different in my case.”
“Why is it different?”
“Because I’m a guy. Because I’m his son. Trust me—it’s different. You know how straight guys are—they think lesbians are sexy. But even the idea of gay men makes them uncomfortable. They start thinking some guy’s going to come on to them, and they can’t handle it.”
She gave him an amused smile. “You’re not planning to come on to your dad, are you?”
“No—of course not.” He shuddered, and this time it was genuine. “That’s creepy. But it doesn’t matter. Guys don’t deal well with their sons being queer.”
She reached across and took his hand again. “Ian—not all guys are like Bobby.”
“Yeah. Some of them hide it better.” He glanced up at her. “Verity—please don’t tell him. I will, at some point. Later, when we’ve had a better chance to get to know each other. But for now, I think it’s better if I focused on learning magic and kept…personal details to myself.”
She looked troubled, but nodded. “Of course I won’t tell him. It’s not my thing to tell. I won’t tell Jason, either.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance he might—”
She chuckled. “I’m afraid not. Jason’s as straight as they get. I got the queer genes in the family, I guess. But don’t worry—he doesn’t have a problem with it either. I’m not sure he’d be flattered that you were checking him out, but he wouldn’t mind. If you want to keep it to yourself, though, I suggest spending a little less time focusing on him. Like I said, Jason’s oblivious, but Doc will catch on eventually.”
“Yeah, okay. Not a problem.” He looked down at his bowl; the burrito had been tasty, but he’d barely noticed he’d been eating it. Leaning back in his chair, he settled an appraising gaze on her. “So…as long as we’re figuring things out about each other, can I ask you something?”
“Uh—sure.” She tilted her head, and her aura flared a bit of curiosity. “Go for it.”
“How long have you and my dad been sleeping together?”
Her startled surprise was satisfying—as much as his must have been to her. “Uh—” she began.
Ian smiled. “You’re not the only one who’s perceptive, I guess.”
She seemed momentarily at a loss for words, but clearly decided trying to deny it would be as futile as it would have been for him. “Less than a year,” she said after a pause. “But how did you figure it out?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. I’ve always been good at that sort of thing. Maybe it was a side effect of the magic or something, even before I knew I had any. Don’t worry—I didn’t catch you checking out his ass at dinner or anything. Like I said, just a feeling. I guess I was right.”
She pondered, toying with her food. “It’s not exactly a secret, but it’s not common knowledge either. Jason knows, but as far as I know not too many other people do.”
“So you’re not—together?”
&nb
sp; “Not…exactly.” She sighed. “It’s—complicated. I have a girlfriend, up in San Francisco. She knows too.”
“Does Dad know about her?”
“Yes. That’s why it’s complicated.”
“He doesn’t approve or something?”
She gave him a wistful smile. “Ian, you’ve got to stop trying to fit your dad into a box. Yes, he approves. Kyla makes me happy, and he wants me to be happy. He’s told me he’d ask me to marry him if that’s what I wanted, but I don’t. I can’t.” She let her breath out. “It’s just hard to explain. But I promise—I care for him, he cares for me, and everybody’s okay with the way things are.”
Ian looked back down into his bowl. This was going nothing like the way he’d expected. He thought about how Blake had described Stone, and tried to reconcile it with what Verity had told him. Was one of them lying? Were they both lying? Was the truth somewhere in between? Suddenly, he felt uneasy, as if some of the deep underpinnings of his worldview were undergoing a subtle seismic shift.
As if sensing his discomfort, Verity grinned. “Come on—this is getting a little heavy for a first meeting. Let’s talk about something else. Did you know your dad plays lead guitar in a band?”
He blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Her grin widened. “You should ask him about it sometime. Or even maybe go to one of the shows.”
“Yeah. Maybe I should.”
For the rest of the lunch, Ian allowed her to keep the conversation light, and made no attempt to steer it back to any more revelations about either of them. They discussed safe topics, like good restaurants in the area, their mutual interest in body art and piercings—he even showed her a couple of pieces he had on his upper arms—and favorite songs and movies. He focused on maintaining his aura control—Verity was more perceptive than he’d expected, and giving anything away at this point could be disastrous to the plan.
Still, his thoughts churned in the back of his mind, trying to reconcile what she’d said with what Blake had told him, and with the way his father had interacted with him so far. The way she’d described him, he’d sounded like some kind of Machiavellian mastermind supervillain, intent on manipulating everyone in his life—but so far in reality he’d showed no signs of any of that. Yeah, he was smart and sharp and powerful, and Ian got the definite impression that he wasn’t someone to cross lightly, but that was different than “he’ll lure you into a trap and kill you if you piss him off.”
A lot different.
She told you he’s tricky, he reminded himself. Don’t lose sight of the goal now. All this other stuff is secondary. All he’d have to do was get through the next couple of weeks, and then it would be over and he could tell Blake it was time for him to move on. She might not take it well, but that was all right. She wasn’t the only one who was keeping secrets.
42
Jason left Stone voicemail the following day: “I’ve got some stuff you might find interesting. I’m busy until late afternoon, but come on by after four and I’ll tell you what I discovered.”
Stone drove down after his department meeting. When he entered, instead of Jason seated behind his desk he discovered a plump young woman with a blue streak running through her dark hair, crouched and peering into an open file cabinet. “Er—hello?”
“Oh!” She closed the cabinet and hurried back to the front desk. “May I help you?”
“Hey, Al,” came a voice from the back. Jason strode out of the back room carrying a box of copier paper. “I see you met Gina.”
“Haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
“I’ve been looking for somebody to help out in the office—you know, when I’m off working on cases. Gina Rodriguez, this is Alastair Stone. He’s a good friend of mine and an investor in the firm.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said. She wore a trendy teal blouse, tight jeans, and dramatic makeup. Stone noticed a silver piercing glittering on her nose, and several tiny hoop earrings on both sides.
“Likewise.”
“Come on back,” Jason told Stone, grabbing a file folder from his desk. “I’ve set up a little conference area in the back room. We can talk there.”
When they were seated at the tiny table, which was wedged in between a counter with a coffee maker and a small microwave, several stacks of boxes, and a dorm-sized refrigerator, Stone nodded toward the front room. “Moving up in the world, I see.”
“Yeah, a little. The paperwork was getting a little out of hand, and she’s a whiz on the computer so she can help out with the research too. She was the one who found out some of the stuff I have for you.”
He opened the folder and began spreading printouts, as much as he could on the minuscule surface. “Let’s start with the one your friend told you about, in Ohio.” He plucked up one sheet and consulted it. “Vic was a woman named Kathleen McPherson, age twenty-nine. It was just like your friend said—she was found on the floor of a store called Kitchen Witchery by the owner, a woman named Jean Tinsley. She’d been strangled, and the body was posed holding a silver cross.”
“Yes, I know that part,” Stone said. “Did they ever catch the killer?”
“It took a few months, but they arrested a man named Calvin Mills. There wasn’t enough evidence to convict, though, so they had to let him go.”
“Where is he now?”
“Don’t know. I can look into it if you want, but it’ll take time.” He slipped the paper to the bottom of the stack and pulled out three more. “I had Gina search on any killings with religious connections, then cross-reference them against victims with some connection to the occult. Got quite a few hits, but these in particular seem to fit the MO.” He slid them across the table toward Stone. “All of these were a while ago, though—the newest was your friend’s, three years ago. The others were five, eight, and ten years ago.”
Stone scanned the sheets. “Give me a quick summary, will you?”
“I’ll go in order, oldest first.” He pointed at a page. “Little town in upstate New York. Victim was a twenty-year-old woman who volunteered at a new-age co-op thing while studying metaphysics in college. Her throat was cut, and some kind of strange symbol was carved into her forehead.”
“Strange symbol?” Stone perked up at that. “Like the one on Amy Detmire?”
“Can’t say. By the time they found the body the decomp was too far along and they couldn’t get a good identification. But they also found a note near the body, saying something about sacrilege and witches.”
“Did anyone take responsibility?”
“No—no signature from Portas Justitiæ or anything like that, and they never arrested anyone.” He pointed at the next one. “Second one, eight years ago, was in Texas. This time, it was a Native American woman named Charlene Dodd, age twenty-four. She’d recently rediscovered her heritage and started studying Native American mysticism with a shaman named Elorie Wilson.”
“What happened to her?”
“That one was more gruesome. She was stabbed several times and her body hung from a tree out in the forest. By the time they found her, the scavengers had done a number on her. They had to use dental records to identify her.”
“Why did this ping on your search, then? Any odd symbols or notes?”
“No. But a Bible was found near the body, and the local church had been having issues with Elorie Wilson for years. Some of their crazier parishioners had threatened her before, claiming she was a witch and she’d caused them misfortune.”
“But they didn’t kill Elorie.”
“No, but Charlene used to be a member of the congregation, before she decided to embrace her tribal traditions.”
Stone let his breath out. “And the third one?”
“Five years ago, in Oregon. Marcie Zarney, age eighteen. She’d joined a so-called ‘witch’s coven’—looks like it was a pagan church—and began studying ‘magic’ with an older coven member who went by Elspeth Crowfeather. Real name Betty Uribe. Marcie was discovered in the coven�
��s ritual space, with her neck broken and several religious symbols arranged around her.”
“But still no mention of Portas Justitiæ?”
“Nope, not in any of the records we found.”
Stone pondered. “Hmm…I wonder…”
“What?”
“Well, in our case, the only reason I found out about their involvement is because Myra gave me the warning note she received. She didn’t give it to the police.”
“So you’re thinking if any of these other women were really mages, or witches, or whatever, they might have gotten similar notes and not passed them on to the cops?”
“Yes, exactly. If they are real talents and not charlatans, they’d know the police wouldn’t have any luck dealing with the perpetrators. They might have decided to go after them themselves, or possibly to do as Myra did and simply stop practicing magic at all. The odd thing to me is, if these killings are related, why are they so geographically wide, with so much time between them?”
“Maybe they aren’t related. There are all kinds of kooks in the world. That doesn’t mean they’re working together. And there might be more of them that we didn’t find yet. I can ask Gina to keep looking.”
“True. And yes, that would be good. But still, these might be worth checking further on. Do you have contact information for any of them?”
Jason consulted the papers. “Nothing on the New York one. Elorie Wilson died a couple years ago—she was pretty old even back when the murder happened. Ah—here we go. Elspeth Crowfeather has a phone number.” He pulled out a card, jotted it down, and pushed it across the table. “You gonna call her?”
“I might, yes. You’re probably right—this is likely not related to Amy’s murder. But it’s worth checking out.” Stone stood. “I’d best get going. Oh—have you seen Verity lately? I know she was supposed to have lunch with Ian yesterday, but I haven’t heard back from her about how it went.”
