The Seventh Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  Hezzie sighed. “Okay, whatever. I’ll finish this up and we can start over when you’re done.”

  “Thanks—sorry.” She glanced at the clock: nearly six p.m. If Stone and Ian had left Palo Alto at three, that meant they’d probably already be at their destination. She punched the button for Stone’s number and waited while it rang.

  After three rings, the voicemail message picked up.

  Damn. He wasn’t answering. He might even have turned it off—he’d mentioned that he wanted no distractions while he and Ian were studying. She left a message just in case, then hung up and called Ian’s number.

  “If you reached this number, you know why. Leave a message.”

  Double damn. Ian wasn’t answering either. This time she didn’t bother leaving a message. She hung up with a loud sigh.

  “Something wrong?” Hezzie asked.

  “Maybe. I can’t reach Doc or Ian. They’re off on some kind of magic retreat down south, but Scuro just told me something I need to tell Doc.” She sighed again. “I’m sorry, Hez, but I’m not gonna be able to concentrate on this right now. Can I take a rain check?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Hezzie didn’t look thrilled, but she shrugged. “Just call me and we’ll set something up later in the week. I don’t want you doing this when your head’s not in it.”

  “Thanks.” She slipped out of the heavy apron, gathered up her jacket and bag, and hurried toward the door, but stopped before she reached it. “Hey, you mind if I take that other shifter elixir we made for Jason?”

  “Whatever. It won’t do me any good. Just don’t bring him around here, okay?”

  “No problem.” She grabbed it from the shelf and departed, already making another call.

  Her brother, at least, answered promptly. “Hey, V. I thought you were up in SF this weekend.”

  “I am. But we might have a problem.” She quickly relayed the information Scuro had told her. “It might be nothing—it probably is. But it’s worrying me that I can’t reach either one of them down there. What do you think?”

  There was a pause. “I dunno. You’re right—you might be overthinking it. They are down there on a retreat, so it makes sense they turned their phones off.”

  “Yeah, but…I’ve been sensing there’s something a little odd about Ian for a while now. Nothing bad, or I’d have mentioned it to Doc before. But like he’s hiding something. And now he and Doc are down there alone, out of communication with the world. And it was Ian’s idea.” She growled. “I hate that I’m this suspicious, Jason. Ian’s a good kid, and he’s Doc’s son.”

  “But if he’s hanging around with people hooked up with demons and didn’t tell Al…”

  “Yeah. You’re seeing where I’m going.”

  “So what do you want to do about it?”

  “Would you think I was crazy if I said I wanted to drive down there and check on them? He gave me the address of the place they’ll be.”

  “I’d say you were crazy if you did it alone. Swing by here and pick me up on the way, okay?”

  Relief flooded her, along with a sudden sense of well-being at how much Jason had her back, even if he wasn’t always on board with her ideas. “Thanks, Jason. You know this is gonna turn out to be nothing, right? Doc’s gonna be pissed at us for interrupting his retreat.”

  “He’ll get over it. Get down here, but drive safely. I’ll try calling Al again.”

  53

  Blake paced the ritual area, examining her work as she’d already done several times previously. “Why the hell doesn’t he call? What’s he waiting for?”

  “Patience,” Razakal cautioned. He sat perched on a chair on the far side of the space. His posture was relaxed and untroubled, and despite the chair’s accumulation of dust, none of it touched his spotless black trousers. “All is as it should be.”

  “He’s overthinking it, I know he is. He’ll wait for the perfect opportunity and blow it, or Stone will catch on.”

  “I would know if that happened. And stop pacing. Your circle is perfect.”

  She stopped her incessant pacing and sighed. “I hate waiting.”

  “But yet you must. Have a drink to calm yourself.”

  She had located a large vacation home at the top of a hill overlooking the coast, about fifteen minutes from Stone and Ian. The place had the look of long disuse: the dust covering all its surfaces and the strong musty aroma suggested it hadn’t been opened or aired recently. Breaking in had been easy, and the space was far enough off the road and away from its nearest neighbor that she didn’t have to worry about anyone spotting the faint light through the windows.

  “I don’t want a fucking drink. I want him to fucking call.” She’d come a long way in the last couple of years with curbing her more impulsive behaviors, but now, with her goal so close she could practically smell it, her heart pounded with anticipation and her head thrummed with nervousness.

  The circle was perfect—Razakal was right about that. It wasn’t a complicated design, nor did it have to be large, especially since it wasn’t meant to hold Stone. Stone would die fast, once they brought him back here. Any “ritual” involved would be only for show, to get Ian into proper position so she could seal the final part of her bargain with Razakal before the boy caught on that anything was amiss. She’d deliberately limited Ian’s exposure to all but the simplest and most common rituals, telling him she wasn’t strong in complex ritual work but would teach him more later if he was interested.

  He’d never see any of this coming.

  Just like his father.

  She picked up the knife from a nearby table and fingered the edge of its black blade. She’d specially enchanted it months ago, renewing the enchantment every few weeks to build its power, feeding energy Razakal had shared with her into it. This would be what she plunged into Stone’s heart once she had him where she wanted him. She’d watch his face, his widening eyes, his grimace of pain as the dagger drained the magic from him and delivered it to Razakal. As his blood ran out and pooled beneath him.

  Two Stones for the price of one.

  But first, Ian needed to do his part.

  54

  “All right. That was a good try. Let’s have another go, but this time try to keep your attention firmly focused on the rock. That’s why you dropped it last time—you lost your focus. Whenever you’re ready, try to clear your mind and concentrate. You’ll get this.”

  Ian heard Stone’s words, but his focus wasn’t on the head-sized rock on the leaf- and needle-strewn ground between the two of them.

  You’ve got to do it. If you wait too long, you’ll lose your chance.

  The voice in his head wasn’t a voice, exactly—it didn’t speak using words—but its pull had nonetheless grown stronger as the evening progressed. By now, Ian had to spend a significant portion of his mental energy on maintaining control of his aura so his father didn’t see his mounting tension.

  The place was small, rustic but beautiful. They’d arrived two hours ago, Stone’s big black BMW crawling along a narrow, winding road that opened onto a clearing with the wooden cabin in the center and a thick growth of tall trees surrounding it. “It’s not posh,” Stone had said as they dropped off their gear and examined the two tiny bedrooms, kitchenette, bath, and living room area, “but I don’t expect we’ll be staying in much. The weather’s supposed to be chilly but clear this weekend, so we’ll do most of our work outside.”

  It wasn’t as if anyone would see them. On the way to the cabin, Ian had spotted no sign of lights indicating other occupied buildings nearby. Perhaps the whole area was full of vacation cottages and seasonal homes, waiting for summer and the return of their usual occupants. Behind the cabin, a gentle, uneven slope dotted with more trees ended in a sheer, two-story drop down to a narrow, rocky strip of secluded beach.

  “I could get to like it down here,” Ian had commented as he stood at the edge of the drop and gazed out over the crashing, moonlit waves. “Nice and peaceful, and I miss the beach. Mayb
e I’ll come back this way when it’s a little warmer.”

  “I’m sure my friend would be happy to find you a spot on this place’s schedule in the summer if you want to come down.” Stone stood next to him, also looking over the water, the tail of his long, black wool overcoat fluttering behind him like a cloak.

  Ian clenched his fists in his pockets. Do it now, something urged. It was the same sort of urge people got occasionally when driving on a narrow, two-lane road, or standing on a balcony on a tall building: just turn the wheel a little bit into the oncoming truck. Or just jump—it would be so easy…

  But he hadn’t done it. Instead, he’d followed his father back up the hill to a flatter patch, where they’d begun the night’s training.

  Ian had to give Stone credit: the man had seemingly inhuman patience. It began to grow annoying, in fact, how much his father retained his calm, untroubled demeanor as he showed Ian one technique after another with little success. How could he be this mellow about it? Why didn’t he just explode, start yelling about how Ian was hopeless and he’d never catch on to any of this? About how training him was a waste of time and they should just pack it in and go home where they could both do something useful instead?

  He’s playing with you. He enjoys this. He likes to watch you fail. This time, it almost sounded like Blake’s voice. He pictured her glittering green eyes, her snaky smile.

  “Ian?”

  “Oh—uh—sorry, Dad.”

  Stone’s expression changed, grew more serious. “Is something going on? Have you got something on your mind? You seem even less focused than usual. Do you need a break?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “No, I’m good. Sorry. I was—just thinking about something I have to do next week. I don’t need a break. Let’s try it again.” He fixed his gaze on the rock and squinted, furrowing his brow as if he found the act of concentrating to be physically difficult. The rock shifted, then lifted off the ground and floated there, three feet from the ground. Ian let it hang for several seconds, looking increasingly more stressed, then “lost” his hold and dropped it. It rolled several feet down the slope and came to rest against a fallen tree. He let his breath out. “Damn. I thought I had it that time.”

  “No, that was better. You kept it aloft longer this time. It’s an improvement.”

  Ian was sure he heard the disappointment lurking behind his father’s even tone. His thoughts swirled in turmoil: half of him wanted to grab the rock and send it flying all around—hell, grab the tree and make it do tricks. Anything to show his father that not only wasn’t he hopeless, but he had vast untapped reservoirs of power. Anything to make Stone proud of him.

  Don’t be stupid. You’re thinking like a kid. He won’t be proud of you no matter what you do. Even if you showed him the kind of power he wants to see, all he’d do is use it. Use you. Don’t lose sight of that. He doesn’t give a damn about you, except for what you can do for him. All he cares about is himself.

  “Ian?” Once again, Stone’s voice was soft.

  Ian unclenched his fists in his jacket pockets, but didn’t answer. He focused on his aura again, concentrating on showing the right amount of frustration but betraying nothing more about his churning thoughts. His head began the familiar, deep pounding.

  Stone gripped his shoulder. “Ian, something’s wrong. I can see it. Bloody hell, a blind man could see it. Will you tell me what it is, so I can help you?”

  Ian shrugged free of his grip. You don’t want to help me. You just want to get me past whatever it is so you can keep feeding me this magic-training crap.

  Come on, look at him. Look at his aura. He does care.

  Like hell he does. You can hide your aura—don’t you think he can’t do it better? Once again, the voice seemed to be Blake’s, this time tinged with something darker, deeper.

  He let out a loud sigh and stalked down the rise, pausing again at the edge of the drop. “I don’t know what the hell it is. I wish I did. I don’t know why I’m sucking at this so much. Why can’t I get it?”

  And then Stone was there, next to him. “Ian. Listen to me.”

  “What?”

  “It’s all right. Please don’t beat yourself up about this. I think perhaps we might be trying to do too much, too soon. I should be focusing on working out what’s going on to block you from getting this, not forcing you to keep trying harder.”

  Ian still didn’t look at him. He stared down into the waves, watching them break against the rocks on the beach below, listening to the rush of water.

  Do it. Do it now.

  He struggled to fight the growing compulsion. No. Not yet. He’s trying to help.

  He’s not trying to help. He thinks you’re pathetic. Weak. Useless. You’ll never live up to his expectations, even with all the power in the world.

  No—no, that’s not right. He—

  Do you want to become his little pawn? Do you want to let him use you for whatever he wants? Manipulate you like some stupid kid? Like those guys used to do when you first got to L.A.? Because that’s what he’ll do. That’s what he does. Why do you think he showed up in that little dirtball town of yours in Ohio? He’s lying about that, you know. He was there. He got your mother killed. He’ll get you killed when he’s done with you.

  Ian swallowed. He felt his body shaking, but this time he couldn’t stop it, any more than he could stop the fragmenting in his aura as he lost control of it. “Dad, I—I can’t—”

  “Ian?” Stone was turning away from the cliff now, his eyes full of concern and confusion.

  Do it now, you pathetic piece of shit!

  And then, swiftly and suddenly, something broke and he couldn’t hold it off any longer. The anger, the shame, the wheedling wordless voice, took him over. The worming pain in his brain flared. And he—the rest of him, the core fragment that had tried so hard to resist because deep down he knew all of this was wrong—that part was no longer present, submerged beneath the rising tide of rage and frustration and humiliation.

  He lashed out without thought, his magic coming to him with brutal ease. He gathered energy and flung it at his father, and inside him something cheered as it hit Stone and drove him backward, over the cliff and plummeting to the rock-strewn sand below.

  Stone didn’t scream as he fell—but Ian did.

  Behind him came another echoing scream.

  55

  “V, we’re not gonna get there any faster if we crash.”

  Verity ignored him, except to step harder on the accelerator. Even now she wasn’t driving at the breakneck pace Stone often employed, especially since they’d left 101 and were now flying down the narrower Highway 1 along the coast, but she still made liberal use of the disregarding spell and had passed more than one trundling RV across the double yellow line. “Try to call them again.”

  “I just did. Nobody’s answering.” Jason leaned back in his seat and tossed the phone on the dash. “You know this is probably a wild-goose chase, right? Al and Ian are gonna look at us like we’re crazy if we show up all frazzled and freaked out.”

  “It’s okay. They’ll forgive us if nothing’s wrong. And I really hope that’s what ends up happening.”

  They reached Big Sur around nine. “Check out the address and give me directions,” Verity said. “Doc said the place was kind of in the sticks.”

  Jason, with the aid of a map and a small flashlight, directed her off the road, through part of town, and off on another narrow street leading mostly west. “What are you expecting to find? I mean, yeah, the tattoo thing sounds bad, but why would you think Ian’s friend who has them would be anywhere near here? They’re probably down in L.A. somewhere. Did Scuro say anything else about the tats?”

  “No, he didn’t know much. And I have no idea what I expect to find, if anything. I just want to see Doc, tell him about this, and see what he says. He’ll want to know—and it sounds like Ian doesn’t even know what’s going on, if he asked about the moving tattoos.”

  “Okay, whatev
er. I don’t mind looking stupid—not like it’s never happened before. But you get to do the talking if Al’s pissed. I’m just along for moral support and navigation. Oh—turn here.”

  Verity wrenched the wheel, the SUV’s tires howling protest as she took the turn too fast. Jason didn’t say anything about it, and neither did she, focusing on the road ahead now. It was curvy and narrow, barely wide enough for two cars to pass as it wound through dark trees toward the coast. Her heart pounded hard and she didn’t even know why, except that she couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. Despite her talents with healing and mental magic, she’d never been particularly psychic and certainly not precognitive, but this time she knew something was grinding away in the back of her mind and she had to satisfy it before she could go on with anything else.

  “Here,” Jason said, pointing right. “It’s about a quarter mile up this road.”

  She glanced at the paper with the address on it, then squinted as she drove, trying to spot mailboxes or house numbers. They passed only one other darkened house on the way up. “Not much up here.”

  “People like their privacy, I guess.”

  The SUV’s headlights picked out a tiny rock structure on the left side of the road, and as they drew closer it resolved into a column topped with a red mailbox. Closer still and the number painted on the side matched the one on Verity’s paper. “This is it.” She tightened her hands on the steering wheel and shifted briefly to magical sight, relieved when she didn’t spot anything amiss. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to spot—an apocalyptic glow off in the distance seemed a bit melodramatic, and anything smaller probably wouldn’t be visible from here, but the absence of an overt problem calmed her, if only slightly. She almost looked forward to hearing Stone’s sarcastic voice chiding her for letting her fears get away from her. That would mean both he and Ian were fine.

  They reached the top of the narrow, rutted road, which ended in an open area in front of a small wooden cabin. There was no garage, so both Jason and Verity immediately spotted Stone’s black BMW parked out front. “Well, we got the right place anyway,” Jason said, already getting out. He paused to listen. “I don’t hear anything, do you?”