The Seventh Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

“Shit. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Not at the moment, unless you can find out anything about the details of the murder without alerting anyone to your interest.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you back if I find anything.”

  Stone tossed the phone on the passenger seat and cruised up Campbell Avenue, passing little bistros, bars, and artsy shops. When he turned right on the small side street where the psychic shop was located, he immediately spotted a couple of news vans, along with a few other nondescript cars with casual-looking young men and women sitting in or leaning on them. They were obviously waiting for Bella Price to emerge so they could pepper her with unwanted questions. Bloody vultures, Stone thought as he drove by without slowing. Yes, the public needed to be informed, but that didn’t mean innocent friends and relatives of crime victims needed to be subjected to this kind of treatment.

  He drove three short blocks down and parked on the street, not even bothering with a disregarding spell since his black BMW didn’t stand out among all the similar cars in the area. He did, however, put one on himself, since it was remotely possible one of the reporters or police who happened by might recognize him. Before he drew close to the shop, he called Bella Price again.

  “This is Stone. I’m just up the street from you. Does your shop have a back door?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Unlock it, will you? I’ll come in that way. Don’t worry—no one will see me.”

  “All right—give me just a moment.”

  Stone waited five minutes, appearing to be window-shopping as he strolled past, then ducked around a corner and used an illusion spell to get around the back unseen. A van was parked behind the shop, with a man seated behind the wheel watching the door, but Stone’s combination of invisibility and another illusion got him in without alerting the watcher.

  Bella Price was waiting in the tiny storeroom as he dropped the spells. “Nice trick,” she said.

  “Told you they wouldn’t see me.” He glanced at her. She was short, dark-haired, and round, her blue eyes magnified slightly behind purple cat-eye glasses. Though her golden-yellow aura showed obvious signs of distress, she didn’t have the same trembly quiver as Myra Lindstrom. “Is there someplace we can chat where they won’t see us through the windows?”

  “In here.” She led him to a break room, its walls covered with tarot-card prints and posters of dragons. A shelving unit at the back held stacks of card decks, cardboard boxes, and bins full of tiny jars and bottles. A microwave and coffee maker sat on a nearby table, and a hanger over an open pipe held a long, flowing robe of deep blue with patterns in golden thread. The place smelled like herbs, strong coffee, and cologne. “Would you like something? Tea? Coffee? Soda? Shot of vodka?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I’m going to have one—I need something to calm my nerves.” Bella got a cup of coffee and settled into a chair at the table in the room’s center, motioning for Stone to take the other one. “I’ve got to say, I’m glad you called. I’m…feeling a little overwhelmed right now.”

  “Quite understandable. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “How did you get my number?”

  “From Myra Lindstrom. I called her this morning when I saw the paper.”

  She looked down at her hands. “Oh. Right. That poor thing.”

  “Can you tell me about what happened? I’m sorry to distress you, but do you know how Ms. Karana was killed? You said you had some details you weren’t sure you should share with the police…?”

  Bella gestured, and an envelope flew to her from the shelving unit. She put it on the table in front of Stone. “This…is the detail. I found it on the front seat of my car yesterday afternoon. After Felicity’s body was found.” She gestured. “Don’t bother with the envelope. It’s the thing inside that’s important. I put it in there myself, so if there were any traces on it…”

  Stone used magic to open the envelope and shake out a single sheet of paper without touching it. It was the same size as the one Myra Lindstrom had received. The familiar symbol was at the top, with the Latin message below it.

  “Can you read it?” Bella asked. “My Latin’s rusty, but it looks like a warning, from somebody called Portas Justitiæ, telling me not to take any more apprentices. That line at the bottom—it’s something about witches.”

  “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” Stone said, still studying the note. It wasn’t identical to the one Myra had received: the wording, spacing, and font were all slightly different. The symbol was definitely the same, though.

  “So I’m right?”

  “Yes. That seems to be their M.O. They want mages, witches—real practitioners—to stop training apprentices.”

  Bella sighed. “I don’t even know how anybody knew I was a real practitioner.” She gestured around the shop. “This place is for the tourists. For entertainment. I don’t do any kind of real magic here. In fact, we play up the theatricality of it all. The sparkly robe, dragons, crystal balls—it’s all meant to cater to the general public’s idea of what ‘fortune telling’ is supposed to be.”

  “So it’s not common knowledge that you’re the genuine article?”

  “Not really. Not even in the magical community, to be honest. I’m not much of a mage, Dr. Stone—I know a few tricks, but my power’s nothing to write home about. I’m fine with that. To be honest, I’ve always liked the trappings more than the real thing. Less work. I love running this shop. It’s fun, because everybody knows it’s just a big show. If I can give people information that might help them every now and then, all the better. But I’ve always been on the fringes of real magical society.”

  “But yet you took an apprentice.”

  “I didn’t want to, at first. We’ve only been together for a few months. Felicity was…I guess you could call her a fangirl. She was fascinated by the whole fortune-telling thing. Used to hang around the shop whenever she got the chance, and she bought all kinds of things from me: tarot decks, oils, books about magick, the whole bit. I started to get the feeling she might be the real thing too, so I convinced her to go with me to see a friend of mine. When my friend verified it, Felicity was absolutely thrilled. I started teaching her a few things because I felt at that point I owed it to her.” She dropped her gaze, tightening her hand around a napkin. “And now I got her killed.”

  “You didn’t get her killed, Ms. Price. I don’t know what’s going on yet, but it’s not your fault. Do you mind if I take a look around your shop, and the area where you do your readings?”

  “No…no, of course not. Just be careful—if those reporters spot you through the window, they’ll be knocking on the door in no time.”

  “They won’t see me. And don’t worry—when I’m done here, I’ll help you escape if you want me to.”

  “That would be great,” she said, relieved. “I thought I’d be stuck here all day, and I’m getting hungry.”

  Stone was right—they didn’t see him as he conducted his search. But after spending nearly half an hour pacing the shop and the tiny room where Bella Price performed her tarot readings and crystal-ball gazings, studying every corner with magical sight, he spotted nothing that raised any flags. The faint magical energy that hung around the place had a benevolent, playful feel to it—just the sort of thing that might accompany a couple of “fake psychics” using their meager powers to help the parade of middle-aged ladies, fun-loving young college students, and eager tourists who frequented the shop.

  His phone rang as he was taking one final look around the room. He answered quickly when he spotted Jason’s number. “Hello, Jason. Did you get anything?”

  “Yeah, a couple of things. Got the address of the crime scene—that wasn’t too hard to find—and a few details about the murder.”

  “Was she hanged, like Ms. Detmire?”

  “No. Her throat was cut.”

  “That’s…a bit messier. Any symbols carved into the body?”

  �
�Not this time. It was drawn on the floor next to the body with blood—hers, almost certainly.”

  “Did your source have any photos of the scene? Did you see the symbol?”

  “I don’t think I can get those without making somebody suspicious. But I asked him to describe the symbol, and it sounded like the one from before.”

  “That’s not surprising. And they don’t have anyone in custody yet?”

  “Not that my source knew. You want the crime-scene address?”

  “Yes, let’s have it.”

  “I don’t think they’ve released the scene yet. Murder scenes can take a long time to process. Especially ones this messy.”

  “I don’t think that’s far from here.” Stone jotted the address down on the back of one of his business cards. “But you’re right—I doubt I can get away with going there in the middle of the day. The good news is, psychic traces from something like that tend to hang about for quite some time, so if there’s anything to pick up, I should still be able to get it if I wait until the weekend. In the meantime, if you can find out anything else, please let me know.”

  “Yeah. I’m still doing some online research, trying to find out if there’ve been any other crimes like these in other parts of the country.”

  “You and that computer,” Stone said with a chuckle. “Ever since you got it, you think the answer to every question is out there in cyberspace somewhere.”

  “Well, a lot of times it is. You should get with the twenty-first century, Al.”

  “That’s quite all right. I’ll take magical sight over bits and bytes any day. I’ll leave that sort of thing to you. Thanks again, Jason. I do appreciate the help.”

  “Yeah, no problem. I do kinda have a personal stake in this now, since these guys beat the crap out of me.”

  48

  Ian called Stone as he was on his way back to Palo Alto. Stone hesitated before answering, but only for a single extra ring. “Ian. How are you?”

  “Doing pretty good. Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Yes…?” Stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, damn you. Everything isn’t drama.

  “I was just thinking about something since yesterday.”

  “What’s that?” Stone forced himself to keep his voice calm and steady. The boy did sound thoughtful, not angry or stressed.

  “Well…I know I’m not moving as fast as you think I should be with magic, and I thought it might be because of all the distractions around here.”

  “Distractions?”

  “Yeah. It seems like every time I think I’m starting to get the hang of something, it’s time to quit for the day. So I was thinking—maybe it might help if we went off somewhere and just focused on magic, and getting to know each other better. Just you and me. Like maybe this weekend, if you’re not busy. Sort of like a magic retreat.”

  Stone sighed, softly enough that Ian wouldn’t hear. In truth, he thought it was an excellent idea—sometimes getting away from everyday life was a great way to focus the mind. But with the information he’d just found out from Bella Price, he’d planned on visiting the scene of Felicity Karana’s murder to see what he could find out before any traces faded too much. “Ian—I think that would be brilliant. I’m sure it would help us make progress. But could it be next weekend? I’ve got a few things I need to—”

  There was a pause. “Yeah. Sure. No problem. I get it—you’re busy.”

  Stone didn’t miss the sullen disappointment in Ian’s voice. His jaw tightened, and shame pricked at the back of his neck. Where the hell were his priorities, anyway? His son actually wanted to focus on getting better at magic. He was proposing a weekend together, just the two of them, so they could learn more about each other and break through whatever block was preventing him from accessing his full potential, and Stone was going to postpone that for something he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to do?

  “No,” he said hastily. “No, you’re absolutely right. I can push the other things off until later. This is more important. Let’s do it this weekend. I’ve got a friend at the University who owns a little place on the coast down by Big Sur—secluded, lovely country, no one will bother us. I’m sure I can get him to let us have it this time of year. Might be a bit chilly, but that’s all right. Is that what you had in mind?”

  “Yeah. That would be great.” A pause. “Thanks, Dad. I really do want to get the hang of this.”

  “And I commend you for that. I’m sure we’ll make significant progress. Right, then—I’ll call my friend, but let’s figure we’ll leave tomorrow afternoon around three. That will give us enough time to settle in, have dinner somewhere on the way, and get in a few hours of training once we arrive. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great. I’ll come by your place tomorrow.” The sullen tone was gone now, replaced by restrained enthusiasm. There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, he sounded uncertain. “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “I—uh…never mind. I really think we’ll get somewhere this weekend.”

  “I do too. I’m looking forward to it.”

  As he hung up the phone and tossed it back on the passenger seat, Stone realized he was smiling. He was looking forward to it.

  49

  Ian lounged on his sofa, looking out the window with a lazy smile.

  That had been easier than he’d thought.

  All he’d had to do was add the right amount of disappointment to his voice, and his father had nearly fallen over himself to drop all his other plans for some quality bonding time with his eager son.

  Sometimes it seemed almost unfair how simple it was to get people to do what you wanted them to. The right tone of voice, the right body language, the right hint of persuasion and inference—the mix was different for every person, but when you got to the bottom of it, all you had to do was identify what motivated your target and play that like an orchestra conductor.

  With his father, that motivation was guilt. Even though there was no reason why Stone should feel guilty about not being there for his son—he couldn’t very well have known Ian existed if his mother hadn’t even told him she was pregnant—Ian was nonetheless certain it was true. Add that to the extra helping from his inability to get proper magic through when Ian obviously had so much potential, and you had a ready-made recipe for heavy-duty manipulation.

  He thought about what Blake had told him again—about how Stone was supposed to be this master manipulator himself, adept at using both magic and force of personality to bend the world to his will. Ian sure hadn’t seen much indication of that himself, which meant one of three things: either his father was so good at it that Ian didn’t even notice he was being played; that Blake’s assessment was true but Stone had a blind spot where his son was concerned; or that Blake was lying to him.

  All three were equally plausible, but Ian doubted the first was true. The guy might be good, but Ian was good too, and hard to fool. He suspected the truth lay somewhere between options two and three: Blake wasn’t being entirely forthcoming with him, and his father wanted so much for his newfound son to accept him and forgive him for whatever perceived wrongs he might have committed that he was missing red flags the size of semi trucks.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. One more day and everything would be over. Blake had been right about that much, at least: ultimately, his father was nothing to him, right? He’d only known him for a couple of weeks, and after he was dead Ian’s life without him wouldn’t be much different from his life with him. He stretched out his long legs and went over the plan in his mind once more, even though he’d considered it many times since he’d spoken with Blake the previous night.

  It wasn’t a complicated plan, after all.

  On the table next to him, his phone chirped. He used his power to bring it to him, glad as always when he didn’t have to pretend to be a magical feeb. That would be over after tomorrow too, and it couldn’t come sooner.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Ian. It’s Verity.
How’s it going?”

  “Not bad.” Why was Verity calling him now? Had Stone told her about their conversation last night? “What’s up?”

  “I was just thinking—I was headed up to the City tonight to meet a couple friends, and I thought you might like to come along and meet somebody else. You’d mentioned you were interested in body art, and I do some side work for a guy who does amazing magical tattoos. I think you two might get along.”

  Ian sat up, intrigued. “Magical tattoos?”

  “Yeah—not anything you’d need, since you’re a white mage. They help channel power so black mages can use it more efficiently. But his mundane work is gorgeous too. If you ever wanted to have any more work done, you could do a lot worse.”

  Ian paused to consider. He wasn’t leaving for the retreat with his father until tomorrow, and he had no other plans for tonight. Maybe he could meet Verity’s friend, have a little bonding time with her on the way up, and hit up a couple clubs to top up his power afterward. He’d need all of it he could get for the plan.

  “That sounds cool. Let’s do it.”

  “Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven. You’ll have to find your own way home, though—is that a problem? I’ll probably be staying up there. Doc told me you and he are going off somewhere for the weekend to work on your magic.”

  Ah, so he had told her. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to learn without a bunch of distractions. And don’t worry—I’ll find a way home on my own.”

  “Great. I hope you two have fun this weekend.”

  Fun. Ian smiled. That was one way to think of it.

  He didn’t tell Blake where he was going. He’d already called her earlier to let her know the retreat was on for Friday, but this was different. She didn’t have to know everything about what he did, and this was none of her business anyway. “Be sure to call as soon as you find out where he’s taking you,” she’d warned. “I’ll need to be in place before you do anything. I’ll drive down toward Big Sur on Friday afternoon and wait for your call.”