by R. L. King
“So what’s the plan?” Jason asked.
Stone removed the items from the bag and held one in each hand, examining them with magical sight. Neither glowed with magical energy, obviously, but he got more of an impression from the necklace. He stuffed the shirt back in the bag and tossed it to Verity. Outside, it was already dark. “I’m going to combine my blood with the tether object, then use the connection between them to trace back to Ian.”
“Why will that work when the other ritual didn’t?” Jason paced around the edge of the circle, crouching to look more closely at a section.
“Blood is one of the strongest bonds in magic,” Verity told him. “Since Doc and Ian are closely related, there’s a powerful connection. It would take some heavy-duty magic on the other end to block it completely.”
“Precisely,” Stone said. “Normally it wouldn’t take this level of precision to find one’s own child. The connection is strong enough that under almost all circumstances, its mere existence is enough, especially if the caster is strong too. But if Trin can block this, then whatever she’s got on her side must be truly formidable.”
With care, he levitated the basin and knife to him, then carefully placed Ian’s necklace in the bottom of the receptacle. “All right—no point in waiting any longer. I’ll warn you, this could take a while, so don’t be alarmed if it does. Verity, please hold the basin while I collect the blood, and be ready to heal the wound when I say so.”
“Right.” She looked grim, and so did Jason, but she gripped the basin and held it steady in front of Stone.
He took a deep breath, forcing down his fear that even this wouldn’t work, along with his persistent visions of Ian lying dead somewhere. This was delicate work and required perfect concentration. He owed Ian that much. “Here we go.”
He didn’t cut his palm this time, since the quantity of blood needed for the ritual was greater and he didn’t want the collection to take any longer than necessary. Instead, he made a careful slice along his wrist. Wincing, he turned his arm over as blood welled up, allowing it to patter into the basin and pool around the necklace.
Jason and Verity watched him with growing tension as more blood flowed. “Isn’t that enough?” Jason asked after some time had passed.
“No.” Stone clenched his fist to speed the flow. “I want to take more than usual, to make sure. Perfectly safe—people do it all the time when they donate.”
“Yeah, but they don’t slash their wrists,” Verity said. Even she looked uncomfortable. “You need a better setup for blood collection, Doc. I’ll look into that for later.”
“You do that. But for now, this will have to suffice.” He watched the bright-red fluid drip and swirl in the basin, his thoughts far away. When he finally judged it to be enough, he nodded. “All right—that’s it.”
Verity motioned for Jason to take the basin and hold it steady, and then quickly grasped Stone’s hand and began her healing spell. The bleeding stopped instantly, and after only a couple more minutes the slash had faded as if it had never been there.
“You want a cookie or something? Some orange juice?” she asked.
“No, no, I’m fine. I want to get started.” He barely noticed the slight fuzzy-headed feeling as he moved the basin back into its spot above the brazier. “Just take care of the blood on the knife, will you? I’m ready to do this.”
Verity gripped his arm. “Good luck, Doc.”
Stone levitated himself into the open space he’d left in the circle’s center, in front of the brazier and basin on the low table. He didn’t start immediately, giving himself a few moments to center his head and slow his raging thoughts. He’d only get one shot at this; if it failed, he was out of ideas. This was the strongest tracking ritual he knew. He was not going to let it fail. One by one, he used magic to light the four candles on the stands, then lit the fire in the brazier last. It blazed up, warming the basin.
He pictured Ian’s face and his aura in his mind’s eye, and began the ritual.
The blood and necklace in the basin blazed with energy as soon as he shifted to magical sight, joining with the brilliant nimbus of Stone’s own aura. He began the process by attuning them to each other, allowing the energy from the blood to swirl around its counterpart from the necklace. Just as they’d done when he’d performed the ritual to determine whether Ian was truly his son, the necklace’s silver-purple and his own violet, gold, and silver energy mingled, flowing together. They didn’t quite merge—each one retained its individual form—but they did join as if they had always been together. The feeling was satisfying, comforting—a sense of belonging, of progression, of confidence that something old and strong would continue beyond himself. For a moment, he allowed the feeling to wash over him, bathing him in a feeling of wholeness he couldn’t remember ever experiencing before.
He couldn’t linger over the feeling, though, as pleasant as it was. He had a job to do, and if he didn’t do it soon, he might not ever see Ian—the real Ian—again. The feeling could be duplicated, but only if he didn’t allow Trin to destroy its source.
Tentatively at first, and then with more confidence, he reached out. This had to work. Even if Ian was behind wards, they would have to be truly formidable to stop him from getting at least an impression of his son’s location. And if he could get that, he could use his power to expand on it, to force his way in.
Nothing happened.
Once again, the tendril ranged out as it always did, but once again it seemed confused, as if it sensed something out there but didn’t know how to pursue it.
Stone gritted his teeth, pouring more energy into the connection. Whoever it was—Trin or whoever she was colluding with, they wouldn’t prevent him from getting what he wanted this time.
The tendril continued its wandering, aimless path. Every few seconds it seemed to get something, like an old radio trying to lock into a weak and distant station, but every time it lost its grip and dissolved into confusion again. The tendril itself remained strong, telling Stone that Ian had to still be alive, but no matter how much power he pumped into it, it wasn’t finding the path.
Frustrated, Stone opened up a channel to even more energy. He knew he shouldn’t, but he didn’t care. This was going to end tonight, no matter how much of himself he had to risk to do it.
No, damn you! You are not going to stop me! You won’t prevent me from finding my son! Whatever the hell you are, I will win. I will—
Suddenly, without warning, the little tendril stopped casting around with aimless confusion. Instead it seemed to shiver, and then shot off to the south with renewed purpose. Stone, by now completely unaware of his physical body, immediately followed it, terrified it would move so fast that it would lose him. He’d never seen that happen before, but this wasn’t a normal ritual.
He needn’t have worried, though—the tendril remained strong and glowing as it ranged farther out, still pointing solidly to the south and a little east.
How far would it go? Stone’s increased power had correspondingly increased the range of his tracking rituals, and this one should allow even more distance. Had he been wrong before—had they gone all the way back to Los Angeles?
But no—as he continued to follow the glowing strand, he quickly sensed that its terminal point was much closer than Los Angeles. In fact, it seemed to point to somewhere in the South Bay area. Stone tightened his focus, homing in on the narrow beam and weaving in concealing enchantments as he drew closer to its end. The last thing he needed now was for Trin or her unknown co-conspirator to catch on that he’d found them. As much as he wanted to simply punch through, he had to be careful. He slowed his forward progress, creeping along the tendril and trying to identify its location.
It wasn’t San Jose—the strand didn’t reach that far east. Instead, it seemed to be pointing toward the vicinity of Campbell or Saratoga, or perhaps even more south. Los Gatos? That was an odd place for them to be. Why would Trin want to—
Oh, bloody hell.
<
br /> No.
He had to be wrong. She couldn’t—
But even as his body tensed and his mind refused to believe it, he knew he was correct.
He knew where she was. He knew where Ian was.
It was the only place that made sense, given how twisted Trin’s mind was.
As if confirming his thought, the tendril drilled down and suddenly the faint, silver-and-purple aura surrounding the necklace in the brazier joined with a brighter, more substantial version of the same one. There was a faint pop followed by a whoosh, and then the tendril collapsed on itself and disappeared.
Stone, forcibly flung back into the real world, fell back, panting. His heart hammered in his chest, and all through his body a sense of dread crept, joining his growing rage.
“Doc?” Verity’s voice was tentative, clearly not wanting to interrupt if the ritual was still active. “Did it work?”
“Did you find him?” Like his sister, Jason hovered at the edge of the circle, unwilling to step inside even though the candles had gone out and the crystals were nothing more than smoking husks.
Stone could only nod several times. He closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath.
“Where is he? Is he alive?” Verity demanded.
“He’s alive.” Stone hauled himself to his feet. His entire body felt numb, stiff, almost as if it couldn’t quite contain his newly expanded consciousness.
“Where?”
“In the Los Gatos hills.” His voice was as numb as his body, inflectionless and dead.
She frowned. “Why would he be there? Did you get a specific location?”
Stone stepped out of the circle, taking no care now to avoid smudging it. It didn’t matter anymore—it had done its job. “I did.”
“And? Doc, what’s wrong? What did you find?”
“He’s at Adelaide Bonham’s old place—or what’s left of it.”
“Huh?” Jason looked confused. “The mansion from the old lady who left you this place? The one that burned down? Why would he be there? Why would Trin?”
“Because that’s where this all began. That’s where my original apprentice died.”
68
Razakal smiled.
From his vantage point, he watched the glowing strand as it flailed about, trying to locate its quarry. Each time it grew close, he used a flick of his power to divert it away again, like a cat distracted by the dot from a laser pointer.
Oh, he wanted Stone to find it—that was all part of the plan. But not yet. Not until he was ready.
He watched his minion prepare the circle, and checked to make sure the boy was still unconscious. She’d drugged him, using some kind of concoction of her own devising. Razakal didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t care. He could ensure the boy was lucid when the time came. Until then, it was best to keep him safely senseless. He hadn’t bothered to tell his minion that he could do that all on his own—she didn’t need to know everything.
Let her continue to think she was driving the plan. It was easier to keep her under control when he permitted her a longer leash.
She finished the circle and stood back to admire her work. “There. What do you think? Does it meet with your approval?”
Razakal shifted his form so she could see him, lounging at the far side of the blasted-out room. “Very impressive,” he said. “This should do nicely for our purposes.”
He had allowed her to choose the location for the ritual. He didn’t like it—this place had been vacant for many years, most of its structure unstable, full of mold and vermin and the detritus cast off by the occasional long-gone squatter—but ultimately the location didn’t matter. She’d seemed pleased by her idea; when he’d used his connection to her to plumb her memories enough to figure out why, her reasons amused him sufficiently to allow her to proceed. It did have a certain poetic quality to it: she would have her revenge on her hated enemy by destroying his son in the same place she had destroyed his first apprentice many years ago, when this house had been whole. The place did have the advantage of being a place where the veil between worlds was thin, which was good. He could use that to his advantage.
Best of all, he would finally get not only what he’d wanted initially, but Stone as well. Stone, who might possess more power than the other two combined. Power the mage didn’t even know the extent of himself.
Razakal’s impatience grew with each passing day, but that kind of reward was worth a bit more waiting.
“Ready to get started?” His minion glanced at the unconscious boy and flashed her cold smile. “I’m sure you’re ready to collect on your prize after all this time, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Razakal purred, letting the barrier slip to allow Stone’s searching tendril to find its goal. “I’m quite ready indeed.”
69
Ian awoke to the musty smell of mold and decaying wood. He had no idea where he was, and opening his eyes didn’t help because some kind of blindfold covered them. His arms hurt; when he tried to move them, he realized they were stretched out and chained to something. His legs were likewise tethered. He could tell his shirt was gone by the faint, chill breeze that wafted over him. His whole body felt exhausted, like he’d just finished a brutal workout.
He struggled against the bonds, but the stout manacles held him down too tightly to free himself. That was fine, though—a flick of magic would have him loose in no time. He gathered his thoughts and focused on the cuff around his right arm.
Nothing happened.
From the other side of the room came an amused chuckle. “Welcome back,” a familiar voice said.
Trin.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Where are we? Why are you doing this?” A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature gripped him. What had she done to him?
She chuckled again. “Calm down. Everything’s going exactly as it’s supposed to. Just sit tight for a little longer and we’ll get started.”
“Get started with what? Let me go! What did you do to me? Why can’t I use magic?”
“Oh…right. Sorry about that. I drugged you to knock you out, and while you were unconscious I had to drain your power. Couldn’t have you messing up my plans, after all. You’ve been holding out on me, Ian—I feel like I can do just about anything now, with your power added to mine.”
“What plans? I thought we—” Ian’s terror rose, and he fought to drive it down. He’d come here without telling his father anything about where he was going, and somehow Trin had caught on to his intentions. He was on his own.
“Yes, I know. You thought a lot of things, because I wanted you to think a lot of things. Don’t worry, though—the plan’s still proceeding. I’m still going to destroy your father. It’s just that unfortunately you won’t get a chance to help—not the way you wanted to, anyway. Somehow, I think that won’t bother you, though.”
“Let me go, damn you!” Ian yelled. He fought against the bonds, trying to summon any shred of magical power, but still nothing happened.
“Can’t do that. You’re the main event, Ian. The plan changed when you betrayed me. We could have done this together, but I can see now that Stone’s got his hooks into you. So you’re still going to help me kill him, but instead of being my partner, you’re going to be the bait.” She laughed. “It’s really kind of poetic, when you think about it—at least your father will think so.”
Ian had no idea what she was talking about. Footsteps approached, and then a hand whipped the blindfold from his face.
“Take a look,” Trin said, her eyes glittering with malice. “Pretty nice setup, wouldn’t you say?”
He gaped. He couldn’t help it.
He lay, bound spread-eagled on a wide table in the middle of a cleared-out space. Around the table stood a ring of stands with candles on them, currently unlit, and another ring delineated a larger circle farther out. He couldn’t see the floor from where he was, but dark, jagged beams jutted upward to define the boundaries of a large room. Only
parts of the ceiling were intact; gaping holes revealed yawning darkness above him. Something he couldn’t see provided just enough light to make out Trin’s shadowy form.
“What is this?” he demanded. “What are you doing?” He raised his head, and saw immediately that she’d drawn sigils and symbols on his bare chest with what looked like blood. Was it his? He didn’t seem injured, but she could have healed him.
Trin paced around the table, arms crossed, her voice calm and unconcerned. “I told you already—you’re the bait in my little trap. Your father hasn’t been able to find you while I make my preparations. My other…associate has made sure of that. But now he’s on his way, coming to rescue his bouncing baby boy from a fate worse than death. Except he doesn’t have a clue what he’s walking into.” As she moved, the tattoos on her arms roiled and writhed, glowing faintly red in the dim light.
Ian’s mind spun fast. Her other associate? His father had said something about her being bound to some other being—he’d suspected it because of her animated tattoos. He must have been right after all. But who—or what—was this “associate”? And even more immediately important: was it the thing his father had claimed she’d “promised” him to? Had that been true? Was this whole thing about fulfilling that promise, giving him to some—thing—from another world? He clenched his fists in frustration. If Trin was telling the truth, his father was on his way here with no idea of what kind of danger he faced. He had to figure out some way to warn him—but how could he do that without his magic?
Trin patted his shoulder. “Calm down, Ian. I can almost see the smoke coming out your ears. You’re not getting out of this. Once your father arrives and I’ve finally taken care of him, I’ll keep a promise I made two years ago when we first met. My associate has been really patient, and I appreciate that.”
A chill ran through Ian. He glanced around, trying to make out any other figures in the room, but he couldn’t. As far as he could see from his limited vantage point, he and Trin were alone in this cold, decaying room. He shifted to magical sight, the only thing he could still do in his diminished state, but aside from his and Trin’s auras, he saw no one else. “I won’t let you do this…” he muttered, still straining against his bonds. “I’ll find a way to stop you, you psychotic bitch.”
