The Seventh Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  She got her shield up in time, barely; it flared up around her, red and flowing, almost like a bloody bubble. Stone’s spell blew her backward, into and through the opposite wall, sending sections of ceiling cascading down as it broke.

  Stone surged forward, intent on pressing his attack. He risked a quick sideways glance, trying to spot the source of the boom that had distracted Trin, but the aftereffect of the spell’s brightness made it impossible to see into the shadowy areas around the room. No time to waste now—if Verity and Jason were out there, he had to hope they could keep themselves out of the line of fire. He couldn’t afford to hold back now.

  He reached the hole in the wall and threw himself through it, shield still at full strength, expecting Trin to retaliate. More sections of plaster and broken beams tumbled down, and an ominous rumble sounded from somewhere up above.

  Stone ignored it. Where was Trin? He spun first to one side, then the other, magical sight active as he tried to spot her.

  Searing, strobing light erupted all around him, dazzling his eyes before he could close them. He staggered back, raising a hand to block it. Before he could get his bearings, he felt his feet leave the ground as something flung him backward again. He barely had time to register that it didn’t feel like an impact but more like a telekinetic grip before another loud BOOM sounded, this time from the ground beneath him, and his world exploded in sudden, white-hot agony.

  For a moment, he could process nothing but the overwhelming pain. He fell back against a crumbling wall, barely keeping his shield up—he never would have been able to do it pre-Calanar. In horror, he spotted a blasted-out section of the floor in front of him, and realized he was bleeding in multiple places. She detonated some kind of bomb under me! His shield had taken the brunt of it, but some of the shrapnel had punched through. That shouldn’t have been possible! Where was Trin getting this kind of power?

  From the other side of the room, Trin’s laugh echoed through the space. It didn’t sound like her, not entirely: her voice had that same dual, masculine/feminine quality Stone had noticed earlier. Her face, twisted in a malevolent grin, looked more angular now, her glittering eyes glowing with bright red pinpricks.

  Stone staggered up, bolstering the shield as he did, fighting the pain from numerous tiny slash wounds. No time to wait now, no time to hesitate—whatever was driving her, he had to stop it. He jerked his hand, bringing up a section of the floor beneath her, turning the dirt, bits of broken beams, and rubble into a spinning whirlwind.

  She screamed in pain and rage, stumbling backward. Stone gestured, bringing an entire section of the ceiling down on her. From above, a one of the battered counters from the kitchen crashed through its weakened floor, careening downward and smashing on top of the pile.

  With a roar, Trin erupted free of it, flinging the counter and other chunks of debris in all directions. Her face was nearly all red now, her hair wild, the pinprick lights behind her eyes larger and brighter, her features twisted and nearly inhuman. Her raised arms crawled with the glowing red tattoos, her hands twisted into claws. She flung another blast at Stone.

  He threw himself to the side, barely dodging it, and it took out another section of broken wall. She skittered to the side once again, ducking behind cover, her movements jerky and spiderlike.

  Before she made it, though, Stone shifted to magical sight and got a good look at her for the first time. He remembered Trin’s aura from before—it had been red, but not this kind of deep, unearthly red. Now, it almost seemed to burn around her, still red but more intense, its edges like raging flames surrounded by blackness.

  And all at once, Stone realized what he needed to do.

  He leaped free of his own cover, ignoring the pain, ignoring everything but the sight of that overpowering red aura.

  Another rumble sounded from above directly above him. He flung himself sideways again, but too late: a massive section of ceiling thundered down on top of him, along with more tiles and counters from the kitchen. The pain flared again, the noise rose and rose until it filled his ears, his mind, his whole world, and then everything went to black.

  76

  Jason hurried down the hall toward the center of the house, heading toward the scene of the battle he knew was raging up ahead.

  He didn’t need the flashlight now: the shifter elixir had taken care of that, just as it had taken care of any need to be careful as he flung himself headlong down sagging, tumbledown halls toward the kitchen. His feet moved with nimble grace, his muscles strong and surging with energy. He didn’t have to stop to figure out where he was going: he could smell the ozone tang of magic, the coppery aroma of blood, the sharp, sour stench of fear. His heart pounded hard, but with excitement, not exertion. He felt like he could do anything. It wasn’t as strong as it had been in Sonoma, but that didn’t matter. It was enough.

  He didn’t even feel like he needed his gun, which he’d stowed back in its holster as soon as he’d let rip with a shot into the air a moment ago. I need a diversion, Stone’s message had said. It was the best he could do, but out here in the silence, the deafening report of a gunshot would definitely get some attention. He hoped it was enough.

  He reached a blockage in the hallway, with broken furniture and crumbled sections of wall impeding his forward progress, but it barely slowed him down. He flung the offending items aside with ease and kept going, slowing only when his sensitive nose told him he was growing close to the fight. He’d have to be careful here: he might have extra strength, speed, and regeneration, but even those couldn’t withstand a direct magical assault or punch through an arcane shield.

  Pausing a moment near a warped doorway, he thought about Verity. Guilt gripped him once again: how had he left her behind? She was his sister! His protective instincts rose stronger than ever—keep the pack safe, protect your kin, fight threats to the clan—and he wondered if that was him or the elixir talking. It didn’t matter, though: Verity was strong. She’d probably already healed herself and was already on her way.

  And besides, Stone was clan too. Maybe not blood, but clan nonetheless. And he was in the greater danger now.

  He ran forward through the doorway. He was getting close now: he could hear the battle even without his enhanced senses. Something slammed hard into a wall, followed by what sounded like a large section of the building collapsing. Damn—what were they doing down there? Didn’t they realize they could bring this whole place down, and that would be every bit as deadly as the magic they were flinging around?

  Something flared up ahead, lighting up the night sky with a momentary red glow before fading again. Up ahead, Jason spotted another doorway. He hurried to it and peered through.

  For a moment he saw nothing moving. The sounds of the fight had moved, shifting off to his left, and he prepared to follow them. Perhaps if he could get a good look at what was going on, he could do something to help Stone—even if it was only to provide another diversion.

  As he continued in, though, his gaze fell on a table in the center of the room. A dark-haired figure lay on it, struggling feebly against something holding it down. “Al?”

  But it wasn’t Stone. He hurried closer, his enhanced vision easily identifying the figure. “Ian!”

  Ian’s head snapped sideways. “Who’s that?” He sounded weak, but at least he was conscious.

  Jason closed the distance to the table in one quick stride, casting quick looks to both sides to make sure nothing was sneaking up on them. “Ian! It’s me—Jason. Are you okay?”

  Ian’s gaze pleaded with him. “It’s Trin—she’s gonna kill Dad.” As if to punctuate his words, another crash sounded. It seemed farther away this time, as if the fight were moving. “You have to help him!”

  “Let me get you loose, and we can both help him.” Jason grasped one of the chains holding him to the table. They were stout and heavy, ending in metal manacles. He gripped two of the links and struggled to pull them apart, but even with his augmented strength he couldn’t m
anage it. “Damn it—do you know where the key is?”

  “Leave me here,” Ian urged. “I’m no help anyway.”

  “What the hell? I thought you were better with magic than you claimed to be.” Jason glanced around the room again, trying to spot a key anywhere, but a sinking feeling told him if there was one, Trin had to have it with her. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave it lying around.

  “I am. But she’s drained my power.” His face twisted with frustration. “I can’t do a damn thing until it comes back.”

  From the distance, another crash, louder this time, followed by a yelp of pain. Ian flinched, yanking at the chains. “Damn it!”

  Jason gripped Ian’s arm. “I can help you with that! Take power from me!”

  Ian glared at him. “No way! I could kill you!”

  “You can’t!” He tightened his grip. “Ian, do it! You can’t hurt me by taking my power. It’s sort of a—power of my own. I promise! Come on—do it!”

  Still, Ian hesitated. His glare sharpened, as if he were trying to discern whether Jason was lying to him. But then, suddenly, his expression locked into one of resolve. “Yeah. Okay. Ready?”

  “Go!”

  Ian grasped Jason’s arm and gripped tight, closing his eyes. The process took only a few seconds: his grip tightened, and then his eyes flew open, staring at Jason as if he’d never seen him before. All signs of fatigue or lethargy were gone now—his gray eyes burned with purpose and anger.

  “How the hell did you do that?”

  “Later! Can you get yourself out of those chains?”

  In answer, Ian closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment. With two pops, the manacles on his wrists flew open. He sat up and quickly repeated the performance on his ankles, then leaped off the table. “Come on! Where’s Verity? Is she here too?”

  “She’s—coming.” Jason ran forward before he could ask any other questions, the guilt at leaving her behind swelling again. He didn’t have time for that. He swept past Ian and plunged through the hole in the wall. “Let’s go!”

  Ahead, another crash—even louder this time. The whole place rumbled, sending more plaster and bits of beam down on top of them. Jason sped up, pulling ahead of Ian, and hoped they weren’t too late.

  77

  Stone didn’t know how long he’d blacked out. He awoke to pain, disorientation, and the feeling of a heavy weight pressing down on him.

  Groaning, he took stock of his situation: his shield was down, dropped when he lost consciousness. Everything around him was dark, but it didn’t feel like the illusionary darkness from before. The air was full of dust, sending him into a coughing fit.

  Where was Trin?

  She couldn’t have just left him here—she wouldn’t take the chance. She’d want to see him die, not merely hope the falling ceiling had done the job. That meant he couldn’t have been out long. Had she gone back to Ian, or was she waiting to see if he’d emerge?

  Let’s give her a show, then.

  Everything hurt: he was sure the dust must be getting into the myriad of slashes from Trin’s knife attack, and he had no way to know without getting up whether the falling debris had injured him further when his shield dropped. None of that mattered, though. No second chances, no time for weakness now.

  He gathered his power and sent it outward, blowing the beams and chunks of ceiling and tiles in every direction—and was rewarded by a loud intake of breath. Yes!

  Memory came back to him as he scrambled free of the pile, magical sight up, and spotted Trin picking herself up from where his sudden attack had flung her into another wall. Her shield was up, but the weird flowing-blood effect looked fainter than before. He’d caught her by surprise—it was time to press the advantage. He flung another blast, then another, then a third, one after the other, raining punishing blows on her like a boxer pummeling a weakened opponent. His arm spiked pain, but he ignored it.

  He knew what he had to do now. It wasn’t just Trin he was fighting: she’d joined forces with some other being—apparently one that couldn’t manifest fully on this plane, so it had to use her body as a conduit. That had to be where she was getting all the extra power. A frontal assault would be difficult, even with his punch, but if he could sever the connection between Trin and her ally, that might give him the edge he needed.

  First, though, he’d have to get her off her guard. He kept pressing the attack, the Calanarian energy singing through his body, responding to his will. His rage built at the thought of what she’d done to Ian, what she planned to do to Ian. This time he wouldn’t stop until she was dead.

  But Trin wasn’t out of the fight yet. With a roar, she gestured with both hands, throwing a blast of energy at Stone with one and bringing up part of the floor under him with the other.

  The twin attacks threw him backward, more bright pain lancing through him as the exploding shrapnel tore open additional wounds. His coat protected him from most of it, but he couldn’t take too many more of those attacks.

  He leaped back to his feet and raised his fist, pulling down a section of the ceiling on top of Trin, and then used levitation to float upward so he could get a better vantage point. Perched on a beam above her, he rained more magical energy down on her prone form, spinning it into a whirlwind around her. He had to keep her disoriented long enough to—

  No such luck, though. She blew free of the debris, barely appearing human any longer. Her face was a weird shifting amalgamation of her normal pale one, a dark-skinned one, and something bright red and malevolent, all three sharing a single pair of glowing red eyes. She raised clawed hands with inhuman swiftness and snapped off a guttural phrase, and then Stone was falling. No, he realized too late—not falling. Before he could react, he plummeted down, slamming into the ground far faster than a normal fall. His head hit something hard, the shield protecting him from the main impact but not the secondary one.

  He rolled over, stunned, struggling to rise, but his body wasn’t getting the messages from his brain. Stars and black patches engulfed his vision. He fought to remain conscious, certain if he blacked out again it would be all over.

  No…you’ve got to—

  The demonic Trin loomed over him, raising her twisted hands.

  “Hey!” a voice called, strong and confident, from somewhere on the other side of the room.

  Ian? No—it can’t be…How could he…

  Trin spun away to face him. “How the hell did you get loose?”

  Ian didn’t reply to that. He glared at Trin as another figure came up behind him—Jason. “Shut up, Trin. I’m not talking to you. You don’t even matter. I’m talking to whoever you’re working with.”

  Stone swallowed, still fighting the static in his brain. Get up, damn you…

  To his shock, still another figure shimmered into being, standing next to Trin. He couldn’t get a good look at it since its back was turned, but he got the impression of an elegantly dressed, dark-skinned man with broad, powerful shoulders. “Indeed?” The figure asked. Its voice was rich, amused, unruffled. “Do tell, boy.”

  Trin snapped something Stone couldn’t hear, and the dark-skinned man rumbled a command. She subsided, her entire posture suggesting frustrated rage.

  “Yeah,” Ian said. “It’s me you want. I know that. We all know that.” He threw a contemptuous glare at Trin. “So that’s the deal—you let my father and his friends go, and I’ll go with you.”

  “Ian, no!” Jason and Stone both yelled at the same time.

  “What are you—” Jason continued, coming forward, glaring, to grab his arm.

  Ian shook free. “That’s the deal, whatever your name is. Take it or leave it.” He raised his hands, blazing with energy. “Or do you think you can take me, my father, and Jason?”

  The figure laughed. It had an unsettling laugh, low and rolling. “I can take the lot of you, boy. Your father is already down, and this one—” He gestured at Jason, flinging him backward with the ease of brushing dust from his sleeve “—is i
nconsequential.” He paused, tilting his head. “But still…your offer is intriguing. Absent the final ritual, your consent would suffice.”

  “There you go,” Ian said. “Do we have a deal, then? You give your word you’ll leave my dad and his friends alone, and I’ll—”

  Something broke inside Stone. His fury—at Trin, at this newcomer, even at Ian for attempting such a thing—grew until his body couldn’t contain it any longer. It washed away the disorientation, the pain, everything but pure, focused hatred. He called on the Calanarian power once more and it came, ripping into him like a cold and thundering river, and let loose.

  He didn’t hit Trin, though, and he didn’t hit the dark-skinned man directly. Instead, he focused all the power on something else he’d spotted: a red, shifting cable of energy stretching between Trin and the man, the same color as Trin’s new aura.

  The scathing energy hit the conduit, engulfing it, burning it away. Trin screamed, staggering sideways, dropping to her knees.

  The dark-skinned man did not scream. He barely moved—in fact, nothing appeared to happen to him at all. Except to magical sight, where his eerie, potent form seemed to diminish, growing less substantial as the roiling red cord burned away in both directions and faded.

  Stone barely felt the pain now. He rose to his feet, shaking, and faced the man. “You!” he called. “Look at me!”

  Slowly, the man turned. Stone got a good look at him now: handsome, bald, square-jawed, with high cheekbones and a fine suit that showed no signs of damage. His black eyes burned with red pinprick light—but like the ruined cord between himself and Trin, it seemed dimmer now. “I will kill you…” the man rumbled. “I will rip your body to shreds and take your soul back to my home where it will feed my power.”

  “Yes, about that,” Stone said. His heart hammered, his breath coming in quick puffs through his gritted teeth as he struggled to stay upright. “You’re not getting anyone’s soul today.” He raised his hands, gathering energy around them again. “I’ve got your number, my friend. I don’t know your name—and you can be damned glad of that, or we wouldn’t be talking now—but I’ve seen your type before. You’re looking for power on your own dimension. That’s why you’ve hooked up with this pathetic loser.” He nodded at Trin, who appeared unable to rise despite the fury flashing in her eyes.