The Seventh Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  “Yeah, don’t worry. Everything’s going just like we planned.”

  “I’m not worried. Before this weekend’s over, we’ll all have what we want. Except Stone, of course,” she added with a sly chuckle.

  Verity showed up at seven, dressed in jeans, black leather jacket, and combat boots with her dark hair gelled into spikes. “Ready?”

  He studied her as he climbed into her little black SUV. “Is your friend in a street gang?”

  “Actually, she kind of is. Both of them are. Sort of, anyway.”

  “Now I’m intrigued.”

  “They belong to a group called the Harpies. They’re not a street gang, exactly—more of…a community-service group.”

  “What, they plant gardens and help little old goth ladies across the street?”

  “No. They patrol around and hunt down people messing with their area.”

  He twisted in his seat. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “So, like Batman.”

  She laughed again. “Batwoman, actually. The group is all women.”

  “Do they know you’re—”

  “What—bi, or a mage? Both. A couple of them are mages too, including one I’m going to see. I’ve been working on learning alchemy from her.”

  “Alchemy? Transmuting lead to gold? That could be a useful skill in today’s world.”

  “No, not that kind of alchemy. More like making potions and magical brews.”

  “Ah, witchy stuff. So Dad didn’t teach you that during your apprenticeship?”

  “Have you seen him try to cook?”

  Ian had to grin in spite of himself. “The first time he invited me to dinner at his place, he brought takeout.”

  “That does not surprise me. Count yourself lucky—if he’d tried making something from scratch, he’d probably have either poisoned you both or burned the house down.”

  He watched the lights fly by out the window as they headed up the freeway. “So that’s why you’re spending the weekend in San Francisco? To work on your alchemy?”

  “That and to spend some time with my girlfriend. She’s a Harpy too.”

  “Oh, yeah, you did mention you had a girlfriend. But I thought you and Dad were—”

  She shrugged. “We are. Like I said, everybody’s cool with it. And no, there aren’t any threesomes involved. Before you ask.”

  “Wasn’t going to. None of my business either way.”

  “Good boy.” She grinned, then glanced his way before returning her attention to the road. “So…is there anybody in your life? Maybe down in L.A.?”

  “Uh…no. I didn’t really get much chance for that.”

  She glanced sideways again, but didn’t pry. “Doc said you told him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was I right about how he took it?”

  Ian didn’t want to be having this conversation right now, but he didn’t see a way out of it. “Yeah. He seemed like he didn’t care. I’m still not sure I believe him, though.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Experience. A lot of straight guys aren’t cool with it, even if they try to make you think they are. Even if they try to make themselves think they are.”

  “Well, Doc’s not one of those guys. Trust me on this. I know him pretty well, and I’m good at auras. Whenever he talks about you, all I can see is pride, and how much he wants you to succeed.” She chuckled. “When you get to know him better, you’ll realize something about him: he’s so focused on magic that he wouldn’t care if you slept with space aliens. As long as everybody’s grown up and consenting, he doesn’t give a damn what flips your switches.”

  Ian looked down at his hands, then back out at the lights. He regretted he’d never get the chance to find out whether what she said was true. The faint spike of pain wormed into his head again as he wondered if there was any way he could get around what he’d have to do tomorrow. If he only had more time, perhaps things could be different.

  Don’t go there, he told himself. It was just like Blake had told him last night: he’d made a promise, and now he had to see it through. After that, he’d never have to see her again. The part that made him saddest was that, the way she’d set up her plan, it probably wouldn’t be safe to maintain his friendship with Verity, either. He’d have to disappear after the deed was done, especially since she now knew he’d be alone with his father. She was far too sharp not to suspect something if Ian came home and Stone didn’t.

  Ian concentrated on keeping his aura under control during the rest of the drive, afraid if he didn’t she’d notice something that might put the plan at risk—and half-fearful he wanted her to notice something. When they finally arrived at a small parking garage in a sketchy-looking neighborhood in the Castro, he was sure his tension would give him away.

  “Here we are,” Verity said. “It’s just up the street.”

  He paused in front of the shop, looking at the display window that read Chiaroscuro Body Art Designs. It didn’t look like much, wedged between a restaurant and a seedy liquor store.

  Verity must have spotted something in his expression, because she smiled. “Check it out with magical sight.”

  He did as she suggested, careful to make it look like he was having more trouble than he was, and then mirrored her grin when he saw the symbols that appeared above the door. “Nice. Much more impressive.”

  Inside, the place looked much like every other tattoo shop Ian had seen: counter at the front manned by a young woman with a green mohawk, a scattering of outdated tattoo magazines on a table in the waiting area, rows of flash art on the walls, and the overarching aromas of antiseptic, ink, and soap.

  “Hey, V,” the mohawked woman said, barely looking up from the magazine she was flipping through.

  “Hey, Nita.” She indicated Ian. “This is Ian, a friend of mine. I brought him in to meet Scuro. He might want to have some work done later. He here now?”

  “Oh, I’m here,” a smooth, amused voice drawled from the other side of the room.

  Ian glanced over to the doorway. The man who leaned there, arms crossed over his chest, was Asian, in his late twenties, with spiky black hair, a slim physique even more ripped than Ian’s own, and glittering dark eyes. A series of intricate, colorful tattoos covered his arms and the part of his shoulders and chest visible under his tight black tank top.

  Next to Ian, Verity shot him a smile that suggested she was well aware of his thoughts: that this guy was hot as hell.

  “Nice to meet you, Ian. I’m Scuro.” The man offered his hand. “V’s been telling me a little bit about you.”

  He wondered what “a little bit” might be. He gripped Scuro’s hand and gave it a firm shake, trying to ignore the electric tingle passing up his arm. “Good to meet you.” He indicated the man’s tattoos. “That’s some beautiful work.”

  “Thanks. Verity tells me you’ve got some of your own.”

  “A little, yeah.”

  “Thinking about getting more?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay,” Verity said, “I’m gonna clear out of here and let you two chat. Scuro, I’ll see you next week, okay?”

  “Planning on it. Don’t forget we’ve got that job on Monday night.”

  “Yep, I’ll be there.” She gripped Ian’s arm and dropped her volume so Nita behind the counter couldn’t hear. “Have fun. He knows you’re a white mage, but I didn’t tell him about you and your dad. Figured that was up to you to share or not. And have a good time this weekend.”

  Before Ian could say anything else, she gave a cheery wave and left the shop, the cowbell on the door jangling behind her.

  “So,” Scuro said. “Come on back where we can chat. I don’t have any jobs scheduled tonight.”

  Ian let him lead the way to the back room, passing a few other cubicles. Two were occupied by other artists, busily inking clients. As he looked around, he realized he’d have to be careful. Verity had told Scuro he was a white mage—would
the artist be able to tell otherwise? Blake had told him it was impossible to tell unless somebody spotted him taking power, but best to be safe anyway.

  “Here we are. Want something to drink? I’ve got water, soda, and energy drinks—I don’t drink alcohol when I’m working.”

  “No, thanks, I’m good.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off Scuro—the graceful way he moved, how his muscles shifted under the vibrant art on his arms and back. To get his mind off it, he forced himself to look at more examples of art on the walls. This stuff wasn’t flash, though: the complicated designs seemed to leap off the pages, almost moving on their own. He thought about Blake’s elaborate arm tattoos, and how he’d been convinced he’d seen them moving when she didn’t think he was looking. Perhaps they’d been examples of the magical tattoos Verity had mentioned. He pointed at the wall art. “These are beautiful. Are they yours?”

  “Yeah.” Scuro seemed pleased at the compliment. “This is my mundane work—the magic stuff doesn’t make it to the walls, because it gets transferred to the client in the process of inking.”

  “Seriously? That’s fascinating. So tattoos can help black mages channel power?”

  “Yep. I’m one of only a couple artists in the world who can do it—or at least do it as well as I do. The other one’s an old guy in Japan. We’re the best—well, one of us is. The jury’s still out on which one. The competition makes life interesting, and keeps us both on our toes.” He flashed a grin; his perfectly straight teeth showed bright white against his tawny skin. “But if you want some work, though, that’s not what I’d do for you. You should be glad you’re a white mage—my magical work costs a fortune. The mundane stuff is still expensive, but a lot more affordable.”

  “I might take you up on that sometime.” Ian continued studying the wall, thinking. If Blake’s tattoos were of the magical variety, could it be possible she knew Scuro? “I haven’t been up here long. Still getting settled in. I probably can’t afford you.”

  “Oh, I give discounts sometimes.”

  Something about Scuro’s offhand tone made Ian turn. The artist met his gaze with a frank, appraising one of his own. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. For the right people, anyway.” Then he was grinning again. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. If you’re a friend of V’s, you’re the right people. Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking about, and I’ll see if I can come up with something you can work with.”

  For a moment, Ian thought about telling Scuro exactly what he was thinking about, but he didn’t. Careful, he reminded himself again. Even if the artist might be open to what he had in mind—and he suspected strongly that he might be—he couldn’t take his eyes off the goal. Not when they were this close. “Actually,” he said, “I was curious about something.”

  “Yes?”

  “These magical tattoos you do for black mages—do they move?”

  Scuro tilted his head, frowning. “Move?”

  “Yeah. You know, kind of look like they’re crawling around your arm, or chest, or whatever.”

  “Uh…no. They don’t move. They show up on magical sight, though, unless you’re good enough to hide them. Why? Did you see some that moved?”

  Suddenly, Ian wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t be certain he’d actually seen Blake’s tattoos move; the couple times he thought he had, it had been out of the corner of his eye, and as soon as he looked at her directly they’d been stationary. “Maybe. I thought so, anyway. It was a friend of mine. She had them on her arms, and sometimes I could swear they moved around when I wasn’t looking directly at them.”

  “Huh.” Scuro shrugged. “Never heard of that. Could it have been an illusion?”

  Ian didn’t think it was—assuming he’d seen it at all—but he seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Maybe so. You know, you’re probably right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Yeah, probably was.” Scuro relaxed, and the grin was back. He settled behind his desk. “So, tell me what you want.”

  Ian spoke before his mental filters could grab the words and divert them. “You know what I really want? I came up here tonight to check out some clubs. You interested in coming along? You could tell me all about your…work.”

  Scuro didn’t look surprised. His eyes narrowed, and his easy grin turned to a different kind of smile. “I do know a couple of great clubs. If you’re new here, you probably haven’t heard of them.” He stood. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here. Least I can do for a friend of Verity’s—show the new guy around town.”

  As he followed Scuro back out of the shop, Ian knew he was making a mistake, and one that would probably come back to hurt him later. Yeah, even if something did happen it would probably just be a hookup, and wouldn’t mean anything to either of them—but this guy was Verity’s friend. Hell, he was her employer. Blake would pop a gasket if she found out.

  He waited for the familiar warning pain in his head, the one he’d lately grown to associate with having thoughts contrary to the plan…but it didn’t come. Either this kind of thing wasn’t covered by his promise, or he was somehow managing to overcome it.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. He could be dead after tomorrow, if the plan didn’t go the way they’d prepared for. It was a very real possibility, despite Blake’s confidence to the contrary.

  But that was tomorrow. Tonight, he was going to enjoy himself, and to hell with what Blake wanted.

  50

  The club wasn’t as busy on a Thursday night as it was on the weekend, but the loud, pounding music made up for it. The crowd, mostly college students, danced and drank and circulated around, mostly intent on finding a hookup for the evening.

  Blake lounged at a circular booth, her arms stretched out wide along the padded back, scanning. Despite her being alone and dressed in skintight jeans, scoop-necked cropped T-shirt, and high-heeled black boots, no hopeful and horny guys approached her. Her disregarding spell kept them away; she only wanted to talk to one person tonight, and nobody else could see him.

  “Hard to believe it’s finally happening after all this time,” she drawled. “I’ve never been good with patience. I guess you’re good for me.”

  Razakal, seated at the far side of the booth near the end, offered a cold smile. “You guess?”

  “Eh, what the hell? You are good for me. And tomorrow you’ll get your payoff.”

  “I will indeed.” He wore a tailored black shirt, a single, thin gold chain that glimmered against his dark skin, and several jeweled rings on his long fingers.

  She sipped her drink. “I probably should have gone down there and set up the circle for the ritual tonight, but it won’t take long. I want to find out where Stone’s taking him before I do it, so we won’t be far away.”

  “Far be it for you to give up any of your…entertainments.”

  She almost snapped a reply, but then caught the glimmer in his eye. He did have a sense of humor—she’d seen it on a few occasions—but it was a dangerous one. When it was nearly impossible to tell if he was joking or serious, it paid to err on the side of caution. “Oh, this is nothing. Tomorrow night will be much more entertaining, trust me.”

  “What is your plan? I assume you have one.”

  Razakal had never bothered himself with details. She knew he didn’t care how she did it, as long as she delivered on her promise. “Yeah,” she said. “The kid’s got Stone taking him down the coast for a little father-son bonding and magic training, just like we discussed. I’ve already told Ian to be on the lookout for an opportunity any time after dark. He’ll only get one shot, so he needs to hit hard and fast to take Stone out. No funny business or fancy dancing. After that, he’ll call me and I’ll take over from there.”

  Razakal crossed one ankle over his knee in a casual, elegant gesture. “Don’t spend too much time playing with your food. I am finished waiting now.”

  “Don’t worry—much as I’d love to draw this out for days, I know that won’t work. Even aside from you taking the kid,
I’m not an idiot. Stone’s pulled his ass out of more fires than I can believe, so I won’t give him the chance to do it again.” She smirked. “Yeah, in a perfect world I’d like to have him on a torture rack for the next several days, but all I really need is to see the look in his eyes when he realizes his own son’s betrayed him, and that maybe he should have checked to make damn good and sure I was dead after Burning Man.”

  “See that you remember that.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry. You can suck his power while I kill him. After all, your power is my power, right? Maybe you’ll be so happy with the extra that you’ll even share some of it with me.”

  “Perhaps I will,” Razakal purred.

  She finished her drink and studied the ass of a handsome college boy as he swaggered by. “Only thing I regret is it doesn’t look like I’ll get a chance to fuck Stone’s brains out before I kill him.”

  “No one gets everything they want in this life.”

  “True. And once he’s dead, there are plenty of other guys out there.” She set the glass down and leaned back. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m actually going to miss Ian. Shame he’s gay so we can’t fuck, but he’s kind of like having a little mini-Stone around, without all the annoying parts.” Her eyes glittered. “Anyway, strap in and get ready, Raz—tomorrow’s showtime.”

  51

  “I really hope this helps.”

  Ian sat across from Stone on the deck of a little restaurant just off Highway 1, near Big Sur. He leaned back, relaxed, watching the moonlight play over the water.

  “I’m sure it will. I think you’re right—a little focus can do wonders for getting the mind in the right place for magic.” Stone sipped his drink and pulled his overcoat closer. It wasn’t a particularly cold evening, especially for February, but the light wind blowing off the ocean carried a chill. The restaurant, which shared space with a small art gallery and souvenir shop, didn’t have many customers this time of night; it drew most of its clientele from tourists and people taking scenic drives up or down the coast. Stone and Ian had chosen a table on the deck but near the door, under a heat lamp and out of most of the wind.