by R. L. King
“What about me?”
“I can see you’ve got something on your mind. Care to share?”
Ian’s silence dragged out so long that Blake finally turned back around to face him.
He wasn’t looking at her. He hadn’t met her gaze since he’d arrived. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“What’s that?” Inside her, she felt Razakal’s warning tension.
“I’m wondering if maybe we should wait a while longer before we start the plan.”
And there it was. Suddenly, Blake’s head felt crowded, as if too many things were in there. Calm down, she told Razakal as his anger swelled. I’ll handle this.
He subsided, but not much.
“Why do you say that?” She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded, given what was going on inside her.
“I—think it might be better if we give him some more time. Let us get to know each other better.”
Ian wasn’t usually this transparent, nor did he allow his emotions to rise so close to the surface. “What happened today, Ian? Did something happen with Stone?”
He didn’t want to answer, she could tell. But finally he glanced up at her and drained the rest of his drink. “I told him I’m gay.”
She tensed, and so did Razakal. Can you go, please? she asked him. You’re making it hard to deal with this.
See that you do. Or I will claim him tonight. His tone was warning, cold, unyielding in its anger. And then he was gone.
“That wasn’t smart,” she said casually. “But okay. How’d he take it?”
“He took it fine. Said he didn’t care, and that he wanted me to be happy.”
“And you believed him?” she asked with contempt. “Come on, Ian. Haven’t I taught you better than that? Didn’t I tell you about Stone?”
“Yeah. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately.”
“Oh, have you?”
“Yeah. I have.” He got up and went to the window himself, but didn’t take his eyes off her. “I’m pretty good at reading people. You know that. And I don’t think you’re right this time.”
“You…don’t think I’m right about what?”
“Dad. I get that you have some kind of longstanding issue with him. If he really did kill your friends and almost kill you, I understand why you want to get back at him. But I can’t help thinking about how you’ve spent a lot of time telling me how tricky and manipulative he is—how he’ll tell me whatever I want to hear so he can get me under his thumb—but maybe he’s not the only one trying to do that.”
This time, Razakal didn’t have to be inside Blake’s head for her to feel his growing rage. He would absolutely be within his rights, and the terms of their bargain, if he chose to take the boy now, to claim the power that had been promised to him two years ago. She could do nothing to interfere if he chose to do it—not if she wanted to live through this herself. There would need to be a ritual, and she’d need to be involved, but she could no more refuse to do it than she could have changed her own past. Razakal had given her a lot of things: life, power, influence, knowledge—but ultimately he was the one pulling the strings. She tried not to think about that often, and it helped that he usually left her to do her own thing, but now—
—now, if she didn’t do something fast, everything she’d planned would come crumbling down around her, and she wouldn’t even have Stone’s death to show for it.
She sent him soothing thoughts—it’s not much longer, please be patient for just a little while longer—and then faced the boy.
“Ian, calm down. To be honest, I expected this to happen.” She infused kindly persuasion into her tone, and to her relief felt Razakal’s power flowing through her, augmenting her efforts.
“What do you mean, you expected it?” His narrowed eyes and suspicious tone told her he wasn’t buying it.
“Just that. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to send you to Stone yet. Remember when I told you I didn’t think you were far enough along in your training? This tells me I was right—he’s getting under your skin, and you don’t have the defenses yet to filter it all out. You’re doing a great job, don’t get me wrong. A lot better than I expected, truthfully. But he’s got a lot of experience on you, and he’s a hell of a lot more of a manipulative bastard.”
He shook his head. “All I have is your word on that, Blake. I literally haven’t seen anything to prove it’s true.”
“You wouldn’t. Let me show you something I haven’t taught you yet. Watch my aura.”
He looked dubious, and she didn’t see him shift—he was good at hiding it—but he nodded.
She asked Razakal for power, realizing if he refused to give it to her things could go badly, but relaxed as she felt it flow into her, potent and encompassing. “Watch my aura. Watch it change, and tell me if you can see anything unusual.” She shaped the power, applying it carefully until her deep red aura settled to an unruffled, calm blue.
He studied her. “Nice trick,” he admitted grudgingly. “I can’t tell that’s not your real color.”
“Yeah.” She let her aura return to normal. “And I’ll tell you this: Stone is a hell of a lot better at it than I am. He can make you think anything he wants you to think. He’s got magic so subtle you don’t even realize he’s fucking with you until you’ve agreed to what he wants. And right now, Ian, he wants more than anything for you to accept him. To trust him. To love him. Because once he’s got that, he’s set. He’s got you. And I promise—it won’t be too much longer before he catches on that you’re holding out on him. He’ll probably make you tell him everything. Is that what you want?”
She could see his thoughts churning. She didn’t smile—that would give her away—but she felt like it. This kid was sharp, and if he looked too closely he might begin to see the cracks in her story.
“Look,” she said. “I get it. I get how this must look to you. But this is what you said you wanted too, and you made me a promise to see it through. Promises are a big deal in the magical world. Once you make one, you’re bound by it. Now come on—you barely know Stone. It’s not like he raised you, changed your diapers, wiped your nose when your first crush dumped you. He’s just a guy, and a pretty shitty one. You and I have been working together for two years now. I’ve spent a lot of time on you, and taught you a lot of things. I’ve made a damn good mage out of you, when I could have been doing a lot of other things. If you get cold feet now, it’ll fuck up a lot of things I’ve spent a lot of time preparing for. Is that how you want to pay me back for all I’ve done for you?”
Ian glared at her. “Don’t go there, Blake. I didn’t ask for all this. Yeah, I’m grateful you showed me I was a mage and taught me how to use magic. I know I owe you for that. I’m not trying to back out of our deal. All I’m asking is for a little more time.”
Razakal loomed, large and potent, in the back of Blake’s mind. Control the boy. I will not wait much longer. It must be soon, or I will take him.
Blake felt pulled, as if she stood at the center of a tug-o-war between two inexorable forces, and whichever way she decided to go, the other side threatened to overwhelm her. Damn you, kid, she thought.
But even as she did, she knew which choice she’d need to make. There wasn’t any question about it.
She reached out to Razakal to share her intent with him, and only when she felt his approval did she turn back to Ian. “You know what?” she said calmly, with a lazy, snaky smile. With Razakal’s help, she pulled the strings of the magical oath she’d tricked Ian into swearing without his knowledge, and watched the boy shift uncomfortably and put a hand to his head. “I don’t think I can do that, Ian. In fact, not only are we not going to take more time, but we’re going to move things up. Let me explain to you how this is going to go, so you’ll understand why it’s for the best.”
As she described the plan to him, he resisted it. He fought harder than she expected, actually, which pleased Razakal. So much power, so enticingly close. He wanted it,
yearned for it, but to her relief he seemed willing to maintain his patience for a short time longer.
And Ian, for his part, ultimately had no chance. He had power, yes, but he didn’t have the experience to resist. If she had been on her own, he probably could have managed it. But the combined persuasive force of herself, Razakal, and the unwitting oath he’d sworn proved too much for him. He didn’t even know what he was resisting, just as he didn’t know he’d ultimately lost the battle. Blake wished she could have simply mind-controlled him, or that Razakal could have taken him over and forced him to do their bidding, but that wasn’t possible. Even Razakal didn’t have that kind of power over creatures of this plane. The oath would have to do, but that was fine—it was holding, and it wouldn’t have to hold for much longer.
“It’s for your own good, you know,” she told him after she finished explaining things, as he prepared to leave the apartment. “This way, you can’t give the plan away, no matter what Stone tries on you.” She patted his arm. “It’ll all be okay, Ian. Believe me. It’ll be over before you know it, and then we can both go our separate ways.”
She felt Razakal’s amusement at her phrasing, and smiled.
“You know what to do, right?” she asked Ian. She lounged in the doorway, arms crossed, and watched him go.
“Yeah. Don’t worry. I know exactly what to do.”
If she heard the faint strain in his tone, she didn’t acknowledge it. Stone would never notice—and he’d never see what was coming before it was too late.
47
The following morning, when Stone glanced at the front page of the Mercury News while sipping his morning coffee, he saw something that made his grip tighten.
Psychic reader found dead in Campbell garage
Coffee forgotten, Stone scanned the article, a small one below the fold, already afraid he knew what he was going to see.
The previous afternoon, police had found the body of Felicity Karana, 22, inside a closed garage at the edge of Campbell, a small town near San Jose. The article listed her as an employee of the Inner Eye, a tiny palmistry and tarot-reading shop just off the main street in the same town. The article was light on detail—probably on purpose—but he got what he wanted from it: Felicity Karana was not the owner of the shop, but her assistant.
It’s probably nothing, he told himself. Just because the victim was another young woman associated with the occult didn’t mean her murder was connected to Portas Justitiæ. It could have been a disgruntled customer, a robbery gone wrong, or even a jealous boyfriend. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
He contemplated calling the San Jose police to see if Captain Flores might give him the name of the shop’s owner so he could talk to her, but decided against it. Flores was flexible, but not that flexible. He was already convinced he’d caught the previous murderer when he’d apprehended Joseph Rivera, so stirring him up again for something that might not even be related was probably not his best play. Leo Blum was an option, but not yet.
Glancing at his watch, he saw he still had an hour before his class. Nothing particularly interesting was scheduled for today, so if necessary he could ask one of the TAs to take it. But first he had to find out if he even needed to be concerned.
Reluctantly, he called Myra Lindstrom. The minor-talent community was generally a lot more close-knit than the more powerful mages in an area, banding together to trade techniques, watch out for each other, and spend social time with others who shared their unique challenges. If the owner of the shop had been one of them, likely the news would already be spreading along their grapevine. Once again he wished Stefan Kolinsky was around, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed to stop relying so much on Kolinsky for information anyway.
“Hello?” The old witch answered promptly, and it didn’t sound like he’d gotten her out of bed. That was something.
“Ms. Lindstrom? It’s Alastair Stone. How are you?”
“I thought you might call, Dr. Stone.” Her voice was steady, without its usual nervous quaver.
“Did you?” Stone’s nerves tingled.
“It’s about Bella Price, isn’t it?”
“Who’s Bella Price? Is she the owner of that psychic business in Campbell?”
“Yes. It’s terrible.” Now the shake was back; she sounded as if she might cry.
“So she’s…one of us?”
“Oh, yes. I don’t know her well—I met her once at a little party Ophelia had, a couple of years ago. Very nice person. Kind. I never met the poor girl who was killed.”
He glanced at the paper. “Felicity Karana. She was Bella’s apprentice, I take it?”
“Yes. I saw the paper, Dr. Stone. They didn’t say anything about the details of the murder. But I’m sure it’s got to be…the same thing that happened to Amy. I expect the police will be calling me again today. I thought you might be them, actually.” Her breath hitched. “It’s not over, is it? Amy was only the first…”
“We don’t know that yet, Ms. Lindstrom. Listen—do you have Bella’s contact information? I’d like to chat with her if possible, and I doubt the police will let me anywhere near that shop.”
Hold on…I’ve got it here. I was going to give her a call, offer my condolences, see if there’s anything I can do for her.”
Stone heard the scrabbling of papers, and then she read off a number. He quickly jotted it down. “Thank you, Ms. Lindstrom. I’ll look into this. Don’t worry—I don’t think you’re in danger anymore. It appears they got what they wanted, since you’re not planning to take on another apprentice.”
“Such a shame…” she murmured. “Be careful, Dr. Stone. Please.”
He hung up and glanced down at the number he’d scrawled on a napkin, then called Laura at the department office to arrange for someone to take his class. Even if he couldn’t reach Bella Price, he still wanted to have a look at the Inner Eye.
Bella didn’t answer her phone, but when Stone left a carefully worded message on her voicemail to let her know he was a true practitioner, she called him back promptly.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I was feeling a little overwhelmed. I keep getting calls from reporters.” She sounded neither as old nor as dithering as Myra Lindstrom; her voice was low and resonant, with only a hint of a shake revealing her recent ordeal.
When he explained to her that he was looking into Amy Detmire’s murder and wondering if the two might be related, she agreed readily. “I think you might be right,” she told him. “I’ve been debating whether to reveal…certain details…to the police.”
“Have you done?”
“Not yet. News gets around among our group, Dr. Stone—you know that. And I’d heard before that there might be some…religious organization murdering magical apprentices. I’m not sure the police can do anything about that.”
“Do you mind if I come down and chat with you? Will you share these details with me?”
“I’d be glad to.” She sounded relieved to have someone to offload her burden to.
“Could we meet at your shop? I want to have a look around. I’m assuming we can’t get anywhere near the crime scene.”
“I doubt it—not yet. Last I heard they’ve still got it closed off. You probably could, but—”
“Let’s start with the shop.”
“There are a lot of reporters hanging around. I’m here now, but I’m inside with the door locked and I don’t even know if I can get out without dealing with them. They’re fairly persistent.”
“Don’t worry—I have ways of getting around them. I’ll see you in half an hour or so.”
As he drove down to Campbell, Stone’s thoughts shifted from the new murder to his conversation with Ian the previous night.
He still wondered if he’d handled the situation as well as he could have. The remainder of their magic lesson had gone as well as it ever had, albeit with a faint undercurrent of tension that didn’t dissipate no matter how light Stone had tried to keep the rest of the evening. Ian had seemed relati
vely relaxed, and hadn’t brought the topic up again.
He’d had no idea his son was gay—the boy didn’t display any blatant outward signs, and he often missed the less obvious ones. It explained a lot, though, about Ian’s trust issues and reluctance to believe his assurances that it didn’t matter. His fist tightened on the steering wheel as he thought about Bobby Tanner, Ian’s tyrannical stepfather, and how desperate the boy must have felt about his living situation to run away from home at sixteen and flee halfway across the country to get away from him.
He wondered if he should look into Tanner himself, perhaps try to locate him and have a “chat” with him about his behavior, but then Verity’s words about Hezzie came back to him. Doing that wouldn’t help Ian—it wouldn’t erase the abuse he’d suffered, and might even stir up old problems best left alone. He might be Ian’s true father, but that didn’t mean it was his job to fix his son’s problems, even if he could. Ian was a grown man now. Much as he preferred to act, in this case he needed to wait, to provide silent support and let Ian take the lead in their interactions. He didn’t like it—it wasn’t the way he operated—but that was the way it would have to be.
His phone buzzed as he left the freeway; when he pulled it from his pocket he saw Jason’s number. “Good morning, Jason.”
“Hey, Al. Did you see today’s news?”
Of course his friend would have noticed, and made the connection. That was what made him good at his job. “I did. I’m on my way to the shop now to talk with the owner.”
“So you think this one’s related to the other one?”
“I’m almost certain of it.”
“The owner’s a mage?”
“Yes. And the victim was her apprentice.”
