by R. L. King
“It is. Breaking magical oaths is a tricky business, and if you do it wrong you can do irreparable harm to the subject.” Stone gripped the arms of his chair, remembering Joseph Rivera. He’d been afraid to try it on him for fear of what he might cause—and he was a stranger. This was his son. To get a bit of distance from the situation and give himself time to think, he asked again, “Why are you two here? You drove all the way down here for something—what was it?”
“Neither of you answered your phones,” Verity said. She slipped off Ian’s boots and put them on the floor next to the bed. “I found out something from Scuro that I thought you’d want to know. I thought it would probably end up being nothing, but now…”
“Tell me.”
He listened with growing tension as she described what Scuro had told her about Ian’s friend with the moving tattoos, and what having them meant. “Wait…” he said slowly, glancing between Ian and Verity. “So you’re saying he knows someone who’s oathbound to some kind of…demon?”
“That’s what it sounds like.”
Stone shifted to magical sight, examining Ian’s roiling aura, looking for anything he’d missed before.
“Wait,” Jason said. “If Ian’s under an oath, you don’t think he’s bound to the same demon, do you?”
“I don’t think so,” Verity said. “Where would Ian find a demon? And why would he ask Scuro about the moving tattoos if he already knew about one?”
“Can you swear a magical oath without knowing it?” Jason asked. “Could he have been tricked into it somehow? I mean, he is just a kid, and he didn’t know about magic till he met you. If this happened a while ago—”
“Damn good question,” Stone muttered. “And the answer is yes, it is possible to trick someone into a magical oath. It’s not easy, but it can be done, especially if the target is mundane, or magically talented but doesn’t know it.” He stiffened as he remembered something else. “Bloody hell…” he breathed.
“What?”
He glared at Ian, but the glare wasn’t aimed at the boy as much as himself. “I think he’s been holding out on me all this time.”
“Holding out?” Verity tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Stone spoke slowly, considering his words with care. “When he knocked me over that cliff, it felt like I’d been hit by a bus. I don’t know what he used, but it had some damned serious punch behind it.”
“It was some kind of blast,” Verity said. “A big one—pure magical energy. We saw him hit you with it when we were behind the cabin. Why? What does that mean?”
“Ian—well, at least the Ian I’ve seen so far, and been trying to teach—doesn’t have that kind of power. He still struggles with levitating a hardbound book and keeping it aloft for more than a few seconds. To summon up that kind of energy would take more magical strength than he’s ever shown me.”
“Wait,” Jason said. “So you think whoever put this oath on him sent him to you to kill you? Your own son?”
“Damn…” Verity murmured.
“Who wants you dead that bad?” Jason continued. “Mages, I mean. Somebody who’s capable of doing that kind of oath?”
“How long have you got?” Stone asked with a harsh chuckle. He let his mind drift for a moment, considering all the powerful mages he knew who might want to kill him. Had Thalassa Nera decided to come after him for stealing her magical game set, contrary to what Stefan Kolinsky had suggested? Had his own grandmother, Nessa Lennox, somehow found out he had a son and hatched a cruel revenge plot against him for what he’d done back in England? Hell, had he unwittingly done something to piss off Kolinsky himself? The black mage was certainly devious enough that this sort of thing would appeal to him.
He shook his head. “I’ve got a lot of enemies, yes, but this seems—personal. Most of the people who might want me dead would be satisfied to do it in some straightforward way.” He glanced at Verity. “The only one I can think of who might want to do something like this is dear old Nessa, and it doesn’t seem like her style.”
“If we can’t figure out who did it, and we can’t break it, then what can we do?” Jason asked. “We can’t just leave him unconscious, and if you let him wake up, he’s probably gonna try it again. Or else take off and you’ll never know.”
“I didn’t say we couldn’t break it,” Stone said. “Just that it won’t be easy, and it’s not without risk.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Regardless of what Ian had tried to do to him, the boy was still his son. That much, he was certain of. Did he dare risk probing around in the boy’s brain looking for answers, knowing he could damage Ian’s mind or even kill him if he got it wrong? What if whoever had placed the oath had included a trigger that would go off if it detected any tampering? A sort of psychic bomb?
He stared at his hands, clenched in his lap, uncharacteristic indecision gripping him.
“Doc…” Verity’s soft voice cut into his dark thoughts.
“What?” He didn’t look up.
“I think I can do something, if you trust me.”
He lifted his gaze. “Do what?”
“Take a closer look. I have an idea.”
“What sort of idea? I think it’s too dangerous to try breaking—”
“Yeah. I do too. But I studied stuff like this with Edna, and I think I have a way around it—one that won’t hurt him. Probably, anyway.” She pulled her chair closer to the bed and studied Ian’s face. “What if we didn’t try to break the oath, but just…block it?”
“Block it?”
“Yeah. Kind of like what you did with me when we first met, to keep out the Evil’s influence. Sort of—divert it, so it was still there but it couldn’t influence his behavior anymore.”
“You can do that?” Stone had never heard of such a use for that technique—but then again, he didn’t have extensive experience with either magical oaths or mind magic in general.
“I can try. I can at least take a closer look and see if it’s possible—but not without your permission.”
Stone got up and walked to the window, gazing out into the darkness. He was deliberately not allowing the enormity of everything that had happened tonight to sink in too deeply—not yet. He needed to be sharp if he was to be effective, and if he was to help Ian out of this situation. If he even wants help, a bitter little thought pointed out, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he had to admit it could be possible: Ian could have submitted to this oath voluntarily, to keep anyone from discovering and thwarting the plan.
Don’t be absurd. He didn’t even know you. Why would he want you dead?
He spun before he allowed himself to overthink it any longer. “I trust you, Verity. Do it. Just—be careful.” He looked at his son’s face—so much like his own in so many ways—and was surprised to hear the slight shake in his voice.
She began immediately, clearly wanting to start before she lost her nerve. Moving to perch on the edge of Ian’s bed, she sat cross-legged next to his head and took several slow, deep breaths. “Okay…” she murmured. “Please stay quiet. This is gonna take a lot of concentration.”
Stone shifted to magical sight, watching the interplay of Verity’s bright green aura and Ian’s silver-and-purple one as she laid her palm across his forehead. Ian’s aura looked dimmer now in his unconsciousness, but still brighter than most mundanes’ at full strength. Stone wondered how much Ian had been hiding from him, and why. If his son had wanted to kill him, why had he waited so long? He’d already had several opportunities.
Ian shifted as if in discomfort. He crossed his ankles and rubbed them together, his fists clenching next to him. His jaw tightened, and his eyes scrunched more tightly shut. As Stone continued to watch, gripping his chair arms and leaning forward, the boy’s aura likewise shifted, the spots of red moving around. They looked like they were trying to get away from something. A soft moan escaped Ian’s lips.
Part of Stone wanted to leap up, to yell at Verity to stop, to put an end to this proc
ess before irreparable damage was done. There had to be something else he could do. He could take the boy to Kolinsky, or back home to England to see if Eddie could come up with something at the library. He could seek out a magical psychologist—were there magical psychologists?—and try to get to the bottom of this. He could—
But no. As he watched Verity work, her face showing the strain of her efforts but also a calm resolve, he knew his best choice was to trust her, as he’d said he did. He’d trained her well, instilled in her a sense of confidence in her own abilities that would carry her through situations even when she wasn’t sure she could handle them. Edna Soren, the irascible old witch from Ojai, had taught her the skills—healing, mental magic, an approach that worked with nature rather than trying to subjugate it to her will—and she had learned them well, with an affinity even Edna had considered unusual. Between the two of them, they had molded her into a formidable practitioner with one foot in each of their worlds.
If anybody could pull Ian from this pit, it was Verity. He’d just have to give her the chance.
He kept watching, still resisting the urge to intervene or stop the process. Ian continued to shift on the bed, continued to grimace and scowl and try to scoot away from Verity, but each time she murmured something soft and firmed her grip on his forehead. Sweat broke out on his face and soaked his shirt. Once he tried to sit up, but she gently pushed him back down. The red patches became jagged, fragmenting, and he moaned again.
Gradually, though, his aura began to change. As Stone looked on, fascinated, the jagged red patches’ edges softened and they began to move together, to coalesce into a single blob of bright blood-crimson. It began at his head but then migrated reluctantly downward, settling at last below his chest. A bright silver nimbus flowed in to surround it, encapsulating it. It struggled and shifted, obviously trying to break free of its prison, but the silver edges moved to accommodate it and keep it confined.
On the bed, Ian’s tension drained from him. His shoulders relaxed, his head fell back, and his breathing became more even. He looked exhausted, but no longer in discomfort.
Verity, too, slumped, letting out a long, whooshing breath.
Stone leaped up and gripped her shoulders, helping her stand.
“Did it work?” Jason demanded.
Stone assisted Verity into her chair. “Get her some water.”
As her brother hurried out, Verity grasped Stone’s forearm and looked up at him. Her eyes were dull with exhaustion, but her expression showed satisfaction.
“That was some bloody good magic,” Stone said. “It looked like it worked—did it?”
She nodded. Jason returned with a tall glass of water, and she paused to drain half of it before speaking. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it did. That was tricky. It was fighting me. But I think I got it. And I think maybe whoever placed it won’t be able to tell.”
“They won’t know you messed with the oath?” Jason asked. He paced at the foot of Ian’s bed.
“I don’t think so. Not for a while, anyway. I guess they’ll figure out something’s up when Doc’s not dead.”
“But it will buy us time,” Stone said. “That’s what we need now.” He glanced at Ian, who was still out. “Can you wake him up? I need to talk to him, and the sooner the better.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“What I did is going to be hard on him—no way around that. It might be better to let him sleep it off for a while and recover.”
Stone growled in frustration. “I need to know what’s going on. Who he’s working with, and why. I can’t do anything about this if I don’t know who did it.”
Verity looked troubled. “Yeah…I see what you mean. But—wait. I wonder…”
“What?”
“I just remembered: another thing Edna taught me is a little bit of magical hypnosis. It’s kind of a cross between hypnosis and channeling the person like a medium. Maybe I can reach his mind without bringing him to full consciousness, so you can talk to him without causing more harm.”
Stone exchanged astonished glances with Jason. Verity had come a long way since her days as a scared homeless kid back in San Jose. “I never knew you could do that.”
“It’s not the sort of thing that comes up every day,” she said dryly. “I’ve actually never tried it—never got the chance. It only works if the person’s unconscious or under sedation or maybe really drunk—even sleep isn’t enough, because their mind resists. But I still remember how it works. Want me to try it now?”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I want to know what’s going on too.”
Stone sat on the edge of the bed. “All right, then—try it. But be careful.”
“I’m always careful.” She grinned. “And unlike you when you say that, I actually mean it. Just give me a sec to get settled. I warn you—it looks really weird. It’s kind of like a séance. He’ll be talking, but through me. And it won’t be a straightforward conversation. More like bits and snippets. Edna freaked me out when she first showed it to me. Be sure to listen carefully, though, since I won’t remember anything he says.”
Stone remained silent, watching her as she sat near Ian’s head, closed her eyes, and once more took a few deep breaths. “Okay,” she murmured. “Here we go.”
She put her hand on Ian’s forehead again, muttering something Stone couldn’t hear under her breath. When he switched to magical sight, he saw power growing around her hand, as her bright-green aura extended outward around it and swirled around Ian’s head.
On the bed, Ian moaned and shifted, reaching out a hand to shove Verity physically away. His expression looked fretful, but not pained.
Verity put her other hand over his. “It’s okay…” she whispered. “It’s okay, Ian. Be calm. Everything’s fine…”
After a moment, he settled back. His aura still looked uneasy, but less so than before. Verity moved her fingers around his forehead, her eyes closed, her face set with concentration. Several more minutes passed.
Just as Stone was beginning to think it wouldn’t work, Verity opened her eyes and looked at him. “Bloody hell…”
“What?” Jason demanded.
Stone didn’t answer. He stared at Verity in shock. To magical sight, her eyes glowed with the same violet-tinged silver as Ian’s aura. “Ian—?”
“I’m sorry…” she whispered. “I’m sorry…”
“Ian, is that you?”
“Dad…” Verity’s voice didn’t quite sound like her; it had a deeper tone than usual.
Stone gripped Ian’s hand. “Ian, I’m here. I know you didn’t mean to do it. Who’s done this to you? You’ve got to tell me.”
“I’m sorry…”
“It’s all right, Ian. It’s all right. We’ll make this right. But you’ve got to tell me who put you up to this.”
“She…didn’t tell me…She lied…”
She? Well, that narrowed things down a lot. “Who lied?” Stone gripped the boy’s shoulder, but looked into Verity’s weirdly glowing eyes.
“Blake…”
Stone blinked. Blake? He didn’t know anybody named Blake. When Verity had said “she,” he was sure it had to either be Nessa Lennox or one of her group, or Thalassa Nera. He didn’t have that many female enemies, and certainly no Blake.
“Who is Blake, Ian? Why did she want you to kill me?”
Ian shifted on the bed again, clearly resisting Verity’s attempts to touch his mind—or something else was resisting. “Was she the one who placed the oath?”
“Yes…Lied to me…tricked me…”
“I thought that might be the case. It’s all right, Ian—I promise. This isn’t your fault. Just tell me about this Blake. Who is she? Why does she want me dead?”
“Hates…you…”
“Why does she hate me? What did I do to her?” Stone barely noticed he was leaning forward, almost looming over Ian, his whole body tense.<
br />
“Killed…her friends…Messed up her plans…”
“Killed her friends?” That left out Thalassa Nera—all he’d done to her was break into her high-rise apartment in New York City and steal a magical artifact. Was it Nessa, then? “What plans did I mess up?”
Once again, Ian appeared to be resisting. Next to him, Verity tensed. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead, and her hand clenched tighter around Ian’s.
“Al…” Jason began.
Stone held up a hand. “Not much longer, Jason, but I’ve got to get to the bottom of this.” To Verity, he repeated, “What plans did I mess up, Ian? Please tell me so I can make things right.”
Ian clenched his eyes shut tight and balled his fists. “Burning Man…”
The words hit Stone like an electric current. He jerked back, his whole body going tense, and stared at Verity in shock. “No…It can’t be. It’s not possible.”
“What?” Jason demanded. “What about Burning Man?”
“It’s Trin.” Stone’s voice came out numb. “It’s bloody Trin. It’s got to be—but it can’t be. She’s dead. There’s no way she could have survived—” But even as he said it, his doubt grew. He hadn’t seen the body. His thoughts flew back to those days on the hot, dusty playa during the chaotic final hour of Burning Man. She’d been in league with the Evil then. He’d fought her to a near-standstill, evenly matched in their powers. He’d gravely injured her, and flung her body away with all his magical strength so she couldn’t stop him from closing the Evil’s gargantuan portal. After that he’d passed out, spent several days in the hospital, and had to deal with his extended burnout from using Harrison’s magic.
But he’d never seen Trin’s body.
Anger—rage—began flowering inside him. Bloody Trin. It was just like that infernal snake of a woman to worm her way out of certain death. She’d done it before, in Adelaide Bonham’s burning house. And now, apparently, she’d not only done it again, but had bided her time over more than three years, hatching an elaborate revenge plot against him. One that involved corrupting his own son with a magical oath and sending the boy after him.
