The Seventh Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  There was a pause. Then: “How much blood are we talking?” Jason’s voice sounded filtered. He must be driving the SUV.

  “A fair bit, just to be safe. Nothing dangerous, but more than a finger-prick or a small vial. I don’t want to have to do it twice.”

  “Do you still want us to get the tether object from Ian’s place?” Verity again.

  “Yes. I hate to wait, but I’ll need the time to alter the circle anyway, and it can’t hurt to build in some more redundancy. Just don’t dawdle—I want to get this started as soon as possible.”

  66

  As soon as Ian left Stone’s house, he knew he was taking a dangerous chance.

  More than one, actually. First, he was stealing his father’s car. Even though he’d left a note and planned to park it, safe and unharmed, outside his place, taking it was still theft and he had no idea how his father would react.

  That was minor, though. Going after Trin on his own was a foolish idea—in his heart, he knew it. He had no idea if he could take her. Sure, he’d been holding back his power, practicing in secret, and he was pretty sure his exceeded hers—but he couldn’t be certain. She could have been holding back on him, too. One thing he’d absolutely learned about Blake, or Trin, or whatever her real name was, in the course of his two years’ acquaintance with her: she only told the truth when it suited her. That, and the only thing that truly mattered to her was herself.

  As he drove toward his place, he kept glancing in the rearview mirror as if expecting someone to be following him. Had his father put some kind of spell on the BMW that would alert him if someone moved it without his permission? After meeting his father, studying magic with him even for this short time, Ian was sure there were wide swaths of magical technique Trin had never even hinted at, let alone taught him.

  He doubted it was because she didn’t know them.

  She wanted to keep you under her control. And it worked, didn’t it?

  He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. What about what his father said, about something else connected with Trin? Had he really seen her tattoos moving, and was that what they indicated? Was she working with some other entity that she’d promised him to?

  The thought chilled him. She’d never told him about things from other dimensions—hell, she’d never even told him other dimensions existed. Just another bit of knowledge she’d kept from him. He wondered how many more there were. If he made it through this and continued studying with his father, would Dad reveal them to him?

  He won’t. When he finds out you’re a black mage, he’ll probably disown you.

  That’s crazy. You thought he’d do that when he found out you were gay, and he didn’t. Give the guy a chance!

  He increased speed. He’d deal with that when the time came. Right now, his mind was focused on finding Trin before she figured out something was up. Like the situation at the cabin with his father last night, he’d only get one shot at her—and she was more dangerous, even if she didn’t have Dad’s power level, because she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if she realized he’d changed sides.

  One shot.

  He flashed a tight-jawed smile and sped up again.

  One shot is all I’ll need.

  And besides—if she killed him, it would be worth it as long as he could take her out first. He owed his father that much for what he’d done to him.

  He didn’t stop long at his place. Once again, he spent every tense moment before he switched vehicles and departed looking around, expecting either his father, his father’s friends, or Trin herself to turn up. He didn’t even go inside to pack anything, but only paused to weave the illusion that would hide the BMW’s key and then drove off in his own car with one last glance over his shoulder.

  Trin had given him directions to where she was. He spread the paper on the dashboard and consulted it occasionally on his way down. She was in the hills outside a town called Los Gatos, which he’d never visited before. He wondered why she was there—he supposed she couldn’t go back to her loft in Mountain View, in case his father could track her there. She couldn’t know he’d revealed the location himself, but she was nothing if not careful about such things. She hadn’t told him the significance of the place in Los Gatos, if it even had any, except that it was currently unoccupied. Perhaps she’d merely broken in and was using it as a temporary headquarters.

  He glanced at his watch. He figured he had at least another hour before Dad and his friends got back to the Encantada house and discovered the missing car and the note he’d left in the garage. He smiled, imagining how proud his father would be if he managed to defeat Trin. He’d call Dad afterward, telling him where they were, and wait for them to arrive. “You don’t have to deal with her anymore,” he’d tell him. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened, but it’s all over now.”

  Careful, he warned himself. No fantasies yet. Pay attention. You can’t let her catch on that you’re after her. Stay cool.

  I should call Dad. I know where she is now. If I tell him, he can go there and we can take her out together. It will be safer that way. It’s crazy to do this on your own.

  The thought was a compelling one. He should listen to it. This was stupid, what he was doing.

  But then the rage was there again—the anger at Trin for toying with him, using him for her own purposes, molding him into her own personal weapon. The rage almost seemed to be coming from somewhere else now, but he didn’t question it. He pictured her dead at his feet and kept driving.

  Trin hadn’t been kidding about being way up in the hills. Ian reached the turnoff for Los Gatos, then followed his scribbled directions through what looked like a little town full of expensive houses and boutique shops. As he passed through and out the other side, driving along narrow streets lined with mature trees and more high-end houses, the road began to ascend. The houses grew more widely spaced, now with gates and more trees blocking them from the public’s view. Ian had seen areas like this in Los Angeles; the people here had some serious money. Did Trin know somebody who lived up here?

  The road continued to rise, twisting back and forth past pastures and horse paddocks, more gates, and wide-open fields between more clumps of trees. On a Saturday afternoon the traffic was light but not absent, and a couple times, despite the overcast sky and chilly February air, he even passed the occasional bicyclist puffing up the hill or coasting down.

  He almost missed the turnoff, because it didn’t have a number marking it. Trin had warned him about that (“Nobody’s there right now, and they really like their privacy”), telling him to watch for the previous number and then there would be a gate about half a mile past it. When he spotted it, set back from the road, he had to make a quick turn. Dust and gravel flew up from the car’s tires, and he barely pulled to a stop before he hit the gate.

  This was not what he’d expected. The other houses he’d passed had been guarded by gates as well, but they’d all appeared well-kept, sturdy, and most were open. This one was closed, locked with a chain and a stout padlock, and its bars were streaked with rust. The whole thing had an air of disuse about it that looked creepy on this gray day.

  Could he have gotten the wrong location? He didn’t think so—there definitely hadn’t been any other gates between the last house number and this place. He got out of the car and took a closer look at the lock, only then realizing it wasn’t actually fastened, just arranged on the chain so it looked like it was locked. Ian pulled it free, dropping the chains, and used magic to shove the heavy gates apart. Impressions on the dirt-and-gravel ground behind them indicated somebody else had opened them recently as well. Maybe this was the right place.

  He drove the car inside, then stopped to replace the chain and lock as he’d found them. He couldn’t see any sign of a house from here; the road made a sharp turn to the right and the area ahead was obscured by a heavy growth of trees. He glanced around, looking for any sign of a camera or other surveillance devices, but saw none. Could she be watching the
gates with magic, waiting for him to arrive? Or would it be possible he might have a chance to sneak in and catch her by surprise before she realized he was there?

  Quickly, he pulled the car off the road and parked it in a copse of trees, then wove an illusion over it so it blended in. It wouldn’t fool her if she was specifically looking for it, but his illusion skills were good and it might buy him enough time to sneak in. He slipped out and started through the trees in the direction of the road, using the disregarding spell both Trin and his father had taught him.

  He had to walk for nearly a quarter mile before the dark bulk of the house rose up ahead. He stayed close to the road to make sure he wouldn’t get lost, but far enough back among the trees so their auras would hide him if Trin was scanning with magical sight. The air was chill and damp; it likely wouldn’t rain, but it still made for a cold, uncomfortable slog. As he walked, he realized it was unlikely anybody else would see anything that went on up here—the area was too remote. That could be good or bad, depending on how things went.

  When he finally spotted the house, he had to stop and gape at it. What the hell…?

  What he saw up ahead of him wasn’t a house—at least, it wasn’t a house anymore. Clearly it had been one at some point, and a magnificent one. Parts of it rose high enough to indicate it had once been three or four stories, with jutting, jagged beams and crumbling sections of roof stretching out over a wide area. When it had been in its prime, this place must have been huge. Clearly, though, something had happened to it, and not recently. From the look of things, it had suffered some kind of catastrophic fire: entire sections were nothing more than black, gutted husks, most of the windows were gone, and the parts that were still intact looked weathered and derelict, as if no one had made any effort to take care of the place since the fire. All around, a wide section that had obviously once been cleared was now choked with tall, green weeds.

  The place looked like a haunted house after a torch-wielding horde of villagers had had their way with it.

  “Damn…” Ian muttered, looking the place over. Why had Trin chosen this location? Did it have some significance? And why had whoever owned it allowed it to fall into this state? Why hadn’t they torn it down and rebuilt it? Had their fortunes failed, or something gone wrong with their insurance?

  None of that mattered, though. Either Trin was here or she wasn’t, and if she was, he could deal with her just as easily here as in some fancy mansion. Keeping himself hidden behind the trees, he crept around the perimeter of the weed-strewn area surrounding the house, looking for any sign of her.

  He found it around the back: she’d pulled her car behind the house and hidden it in a tumbledown outbuilding, covering it with an old tarp. Ian tensed, looking around for any sign of her, but didn’t see her. She had to be inside somewhere. Was the place even habitable? It looked to him as if every part of it could come crashing down at any moment, especially if anyone were tromping around or making noise in there.

  Keeping the disregarding spell up and pairing it with invisibility—he found it a small source of pride that invisibility was one thing he seemed to be better than his father at—Ian crept from the trees and crouched low, making his way through the weeds toward the house. He kept magical sight up, looking for any flash of Trin’s deep-red aura amid the dull, unrelieved black and gray of the house, but saw nothing. Was she here? Had she hidden herself somewhere? Were there parts of the house, perhaps a basement, that were still intact? He didn’t see any wards around it, but then, what did Trin need to protect herself from? His father wasn’t likely to find her here—even if he found something of hers at the Mountain View place, Ian didn’t think she’d be foolish enough to leave anything with emotional significance behind.

  If Trin even owned anything with emotional significance.

  He climbed over a low section of crumbling wall and stepped inside. This section of the house was partly intact, with its upper floors destroyed but parts of the ground-floor rooms still topped with a sagging ceiling. Dirt and mold covered what had once been a fine carpet, now singed and nearly destroyed by years of rain and weather. Ian glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if it would come crashing down on him as he moved further into the house.

  Where the hell was Trin?

  He moved through the room and out through an uneven doorway leading further in. Already he was regretting this decision—searching this place for her could take hours. She was expecting him, so she’d probably come looking at some point. Would she discover his hidden car and get suspicious?

  He was going about this all wrong. He’d never find her if he searched aimlessly. If she was here, she probably knew where the safe parts of the house were. If he kept casting around without any plan, he’d probably blunder into some section that would collapse on him.

  She still thought she had him under control. She knew he was coming. All he’d have to do was keep her off guard long enough for her to turn her back on him and give him an opportunity.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched her number, straining his ears to hear the corresponding ring. Was she close to him? Was she watching him, even now?

  He heard no ring, but after a moment the line picked up. “Ian? Where the hell are you? I thought you’d be here by now.”

  “I am here. This place is a dump. Why the hell did you pick a burned-out pile of crap like this?” He filled his voice with contempt.

  “I have my reasons. I’ll tell you everything when we see each other. Did you try coming in without calling me? That’s stupid. This place is dangerous if you don’t know where you’re going. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come find you.”

  “Damned if I know.” He looked around, trying to find some identifying bit of décor. “Uh—I just left a room around the back, not too far from where you parked your car. I’m in a hallway now. It smells like piss and mold in here.”

  “Yeah, okay, I think I know where you are. Just go back to that room and wait. I’ll be there in a minute.” She hung up.

  Ian put his phone away, satisfied. She sounded like her normal impatient self, but nothing in her voice indicated she was on to him. He could still do this—he’d just have to stay cool. As he waited for her to arrive, he concentrated on controlling his aura so she wouldn’t catch on to his tense anticipation.

  The minutes dragged on, and still she hadn’t shown up. How big was this place, anyway? How long would it take her to get to him? Were there impassable sections, requiring her to take detours or even go outside and back in? Ian paced, first peering out the window at the wild weeds, then watching the two doorways—you could barely even call them that anymore, as crooked and blasted as they were—leading into the large room. Could she have assumed he was somewhere different, based on his vague description, and gone there instead?

  He was about to pull his phone back out and call her again when a faint lightheadedness took hold of him. He staggered a little, catching himself against the wall, and blinked. What was going on? Was some of the mold on the house’s walls finally getting to him? Had he been breathing in something he shouldn’t have all this time? Damn Trin anyway, for choosing such a rotten location!

  He couldn’t risk facing her when he wasn’t at his best. He’d need to get outside, get some fresh air. He stumbled toward the broken window where he’d initially entered.

  A stronger lightheaded sensation ripped through him. He stumbled, dropping to his knees and then forward onto his hands, which squelched on the mossy carpet. Nausea rose, and suddenly his whole body felt overheated. No…I don’t have time for this now. I’ve got to—

  His vision blurred. All around him, the walls seemed to be closing in, bulging toward him, and the carpet’s old-fashioned, rotted pattern spun crazily. What…no…

  A figure swam into view in front of him: boot-clad feet and faded, ripped jeans. He dragged his gaze upward to see Trin—at least he thought it was Trin—standing a few feet away.

  “Hello, Ian,” she said. “Good to
see you again. Did you think you had me fooled? You really should know by now that trying to betray me is a dangerous thing to do.”

  Tension gripped Ian’s body, but as he tried to summon the pattern for a spell, it whirled away from him. He thought he heard someone chuckling—a man, not Trin—in his head, but saw no other figures near her. Just Trin, with her arms crossed, staring down at him with a cold smile. Even though everything else about her was blurry, the writhing, bright-red tattoos on her arms moved with complete clarity.

  For just a moment, he understood their message.

  And it terrified him.

  They were the last thing Ian saw, and the man’s chuckling laughter the last thing he heard, before he passed out.

  67

  The only reason Stone hadn’t driven himself mad with impatience while waiting for Verity and Jason to return with Ian’s tether object was that it took him that long to make the necessary alterations to the circle for his revised ritual. He nearly pounced on them when they knocked on the sanctum door almost exactly an hour after they’d left.

  “Did you get it?” he demanded, using magic to block Raider from entering long enough for them to slip past him and close the door.

  Verity held up a bag. “Yeah. Grabbed a necklace I’ve seen him wear a couple times, and a shirt. There wasn’t a lot of personal stuff in there—makes sense, since he hasn’t been there long.” She studied the circle, which had changed significantly in her absence. “Wow. That’s pretty elaborate.”

  “It needs to be. I don’t want to have to do this again.” He took the bag and walked back over to the circle’s edge. He’d added several more sigils and symbols around all three of its concentric circles, swapped out one set of crystals for another, and added four stands, one at each cardinal point, each one supporting a different colored candle. A shallow bronze basin sat on a low table in the center, suspended over a brazier. A black-bladed knife lay next to these.