An Unexpected Truth: A Novella in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  But none of this is getting me anywhere. I’d been looking for other people in the background of the photos, but aside from Alastair and the other mages, everybody else is too blurry to make out. No help there. In frustration, I swipe the photos back into the box and push it aside, leaving only the letter in front of me.

  Briefly, I consider calling Jason. My mom died when I was a baby—and everybody told me it was cancer when I was old enough to understand. Jason’s only seven years older than I am, so he probably had no idea what went on at the time either, but he has a better chance than I do. Maybe Dad gave him more information and he didn’t share it with me because he didn’t want to upset me.

  I crumple the note in frustration. This is bullshit. Somebody is messing with me, and I am not going to ruin Jason and Amber’s trip over this. The building’s front door is almost always propped open, which means anybody could have gotten in off the street and left the note. And of course there aren’t any security cameras in the lobby. Those would require the landlord to spend money, something he’s definitely not in the habit of doing.

  I can’t call Alastair. I actually tried in a moment of weakness, since he likes puzzles even more than I do and could probably be a lot more objective about this one, but I got his voicemail saying he’ll be out of communication for at least three or four days. I didn’t leave a message.

  Great, so I’m on my own. I uncrumple the note and stare at it again, trying for at least the twentieth time to spot anything that might give me a clue. I definitely don’t recognize the handwriting. Fairbreeze turns out to be a tiny town off highway 1 north of Santa Barbara, but the internet has no listing of anyplace called “Croney’s” there. Magical sight reveals nothing, and neither does holding the note up to the light. I even resort to dripping lemon juice on it in the hope of finding invisible writing, but all that gets me is a soggy note smelling vaguely of citrus.

  The envelope is no help either. I get excited thinking maybe whoever sent it might have licked the seal, which might give me a tether for a tracking spell, but no, it’s just your standard adhesive gum.

  Whoever it was took no chances, which probably means they know about my magical abilities.

  I fling myself up out of my chair, suddenly angry. How dare some asshole send me a note saying my dad isn’t really my dad, and my mom didn’t die of cancer? Neither of those things are right. They can’t be. Somebody’s trying to get a rise out of me, and I’m playing right into their hands.

  If only there was somebody out there I could ask, but my dad’s been dead for years. It would be nice if magic let you communicate with the other side, but unless Dad left an echo—which is highly unlikely—that’s not happening. Especially since Jason had to sell our old house in Ventura to pay Dad’s debts, and I doubt the new owners would be keen on letting me set up a séance in the middle of their living room.

  The answer, when it comes to me, is so obvious I nearly smack my head in embarrassment for not thinking of it before. I’m about to dump the photos out and look through them again when I remember where they came from.

  Of course! There is somebody I can talk to—somebody who was there at the time, close to my parents, and old enough to know what was going on. How could I have forgotten about him? But I guess I am a bit off my game, all things considered.

  Photos forgotten, I snatch up my phone and tap one of the entries in my contacts list. I hope he’s home, because right now if I get more voicemail I’ll probably—

  “Hello?”

  Relief floods through me at the gruff, familiar voice I’ve heard so many times throughout my childhood. “Stan! I am so glad you’re answering your phone.”

  “Who’s this?” Stan Lopez, Dad’s old friend on the Ventura police force, sounds confused and a little suspicious.

  “It’s me, Verity.” My excitement must have come through on the phone; I pitch my voice down to its normal register.

  “Oh, Verity! Hey!” His voice brightens immediately. “Sorry, you didn’t sound like yourself there for a minute. How have you been?”

  I haven’t seen him for a while, but he sounds happy to hear from me. He’s always happy when Jason or I call or visit. He’s been like a second father to both of us, especially after Dad died. “I’ve been…okay, I guess.”

  “Anything wrong?” Now he sounds concerned. “Where’s Jason?”

  “He’s fine. He’s off on a camping trip with Amber for a few days.” I take a deep breath. “Listen, Stan—I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Go for it. I’m all ears.”

  “Well—” I glance at the note again. Come to Fairbreeze if you want to find out more. Ojai, where Stan lives, isn’t too far from Fairbreeze—assuming I’m foolish enough to actually go there.

  Which I might possibly be, depending on what I find out from Stan.

  “Verity?”

  “Yeah. Uh…it’s not really something I want to talk about over the phone. Is it okay if I come down there?”

  “All the way down here?” He sounds confused again. “You know I’m always happy to see you, but that’s a pretty long drive. You sure we can’t just do this on the phone?”

  “I guess it’s up to you. I’d rather do it in person, to be honest. But if you’re busy—”

  “Nah, I’m not busy. I’m off for a couple days, so come on down if you want. You can have my spare bedroom. But can you give me some idea about what this is about?”

  I consider. I don’t know exactly why I don’t want to reveal too much over the phone, but I don’t. Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to get the hell away from San Francisco for a while. “It’s…about something that happened when I was a baby. About my parents.”

  “Hmm. Okay. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but come on down. When should I expect you?”

  “I’ll leave now. Should be there by tonight. That okay?”

  “Fine. But I wish you’d tell me something more about what to expect.”

  “I’ll talk to you tonight, Stan. Thanks. I really appreciate it. Bye.”

  I hang up before he can say anything. I feel guilty about it, but I do it anyway.

  As things like this always work out—that is to say, the way you don’t want them to—I run into Hezzie coming in through the front door as I’m heading out with my overnight bag slung over my shoulder. Bob is gone by now.

  She stops, looking me up and down without expression. “Going somewhere?”

  I shift to magical sight to check out her aura, trying to get a clue about where she stands with the me-and-Kyla situation. She’s a whiz at alchemy, but aside from that her magical talent’s nowhere near as strong as mine, so she can’t hide from me. Her aura is tense, guarded, but I don’t see any bright red flashes. She’s carrying a bag from one of her favorite ingredient shops.

  “I…uh…Yeah. Heading down south for a couple days to visit an old friend.”

  “And get the hell away from here, right?”

  There’s no amusement in her voice, but she doesn’t sound accusing, either. It’s a start. “Hezzie, I—”

  “Listen,” she cuts me off, holding up her hand. “None of this is any of my business, so leave me out of it, okay?”

  I swallow. “Kyla told you what happened?”

  “Yeah. She told everybody last night.”

  My stomach sinks, and I bow my head. “How’s she doing?”

  “How do you expect?” Still no accusation. Her tone is even and a little clipped, but she always sounds like that.

  “About the same as me, I’d imagine.” I drag my gaze up, wanting to ask but not wanting to, afraid of what her answer will be. “So…uh…”

  “Yeah.” She moves past me, toward the stairs. “Call me when you get back. I want to see how you’re doing with that night-vision you were working on.”

  I freeze. “You still want to work with me?”

  “Why not?” Her voice has that “duh!” tone, like I’d just asked, You’re still female, right?

&
nbsp; I turn back toward her. “Really? You do?”

  She shrugs. “If you do. It’s gonna be awkward for a while—no helping that. Let’s see how things go when you get back. We can figure it out then. I gotta go now, though. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I stay there until her footsteps up the creaky stairs fade away, then push open the door—today it’s propped with an old trash can—and head out.

  5

  It takes me close to six hours to get to Ojai. I drive straight through, stopping only once in San Luis Obispo for a quick lunch, gas fill-up, and pit stop. The whole way down I play loud, angry music so I can’t spend too much time dwelling on what’s happened, but it doesn’t work very well. Kyla’s disappointed, hurt face keeps swirling in front of my mind’s eye.

  Everything was going so well. Why the hell did she make me choose?

  And why the hell did whoever wants to fuck with my mind pick right now to do it?

  I stop again when I get to Ojai, pulling into a parking lot so I can call Stan and make sure he’s ready for me.

  He answers immediately. “Hey. You here yet?”

  I smile at the fatherly tone of his voice. Even though I’m a mage and can handle just about any mundane problem that might turn up, he still worries about me. “Yeah, just got in. I figured I should probably give you a chance to tidy up before I drop in on you.”

  “Everything’s tidy. Pizza boxes, dirty laundry, and dog hair all swept up and shoved under the bed.”

  “Dog hair? You didn’t tell me you had a dog!”

  He chuckles. “Didn’t really come up. But I’m sure she’ll love you. Come on over.”

  Stan’s place looks the same as I remember: a modest, one-story tan ranch house on a sleepy side street in Oak View, a couple miles outside Ojai. He must have been watching for me, because as soon as I pull into the driveway, the front door opens and there he is, smiling and waving in his jeans, slippers, and Ventura County PD Chili Cook-Off T-shirt. A moment later, a furry, black-and-brown missile comes streaking out behind him, dancing around his legs and barking up a storm.

  I grin in spite of myself, crouching and beckoning. “Aww, Stan, she’s beautiful!”

  Immediately, the exuberant German Shepherd, barely more than a puppy, dashes over to me and flings her oversized paws at my shoulders, covering me in wet, sloppy kisses.

  “Matilda!” Stan yells. “Stop that!” But he’s grinning too, obviously pleased that his two friends are already getting along so well. He hurries over and snaps a leash around her collar.

  I throw my arms around him in a quick, hard hug. “Thanks for letting me come down, Stan. Especially on such short notice.”

  He tugs Matilda back toward the house—no easy feat when she’s so excited by a new person she needs to get to know. “You and Jason are always welcome here. You know that. But you’ve got me curious about what’s on your mind.” He points. “I was gonna do some barbecue—that sound good? Or we could go out somewhere for dinner if you want.”

  “Barbecue’s great.”

  “Okay, then. You know where the guest room is. Why don’t you get settled in and I’ll get the meat started, and then we can talk over food. Don’t be shy about shooing this one out if she bugs you.”

  “How could she bug me?” I pet Matilda’s head, and she looks up at me with adoration, tongue lolling. “Believe me, I could use a little pet therapy right now.”

  “If you can take it with a big side of slobber, Tilly’s the right pup for the job.”

  It doesn’t take me long to unpack since I’ve just got the one bag. Aside from clothes and toiletries, all I brought with me is the box of photos and the note. When I drift back down the hall, I follow my nose out to the backyard, where Stan’s got his big old gas grill fired up. A pair of steaks and a few ears of corn are on a plate next to it, and Matilda is eyeing the steaks like a long-lost lover.

  “Don’t let her fool you,” Stan says, chuckling. “She already got some raw steak along with her regular food. She’s not neglected.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Nah, got it covered. You can keep her entertained if you want, though.”

  “Oh, sure, make me play with the puppy. Twist my arm, why don’t you?”

  I spend the next half-hour tossing sticks, balls, and other toys for Matilda, who seems to be porting in energy from another dimension. By the time Stan piles the steak and corn onto plates and announces, “Come on in—dinner’s served!” she’s not the slightest bit tired, but I’m panting.

  We keep things to light small talk while we’re eating—the food is delicious, as I knew it would be. Stan and my dad always used to have a friendly rivalry over who was the best barbecue chef, and Stan’s clearly kept up his skills.

  “Okay,” he says after he gathers up the plates and carries them to the kitchen. “Let’s have a seat where it’s more comfortable, and you can tell me what you couldn’t say on the phone.”

  I drop down onto his old, soft couch, and he switches off the TV and takes the seat across from me. Matilda immediately curls up on his feet, watching me.

  Okay, V—here goes.

  I’m nervous about bringing it up, but I’ve come all the way down here. Best to just spit it out. “Stan…you spent a lot of time with my parents before I was born, right?”

  He narrows his eyes and frowns. “That’s a weird question. You know I did. Your dad was my best friend.”

  “What about…my mom?”

  His frown deepens. “What about her?”

  “Did you spend a lot of time with her, too?”

  “Verity, what’s this about?”

  “Did you? Did you know her as well as you knew my dad?”

  Apparently, Stan’s decided I’ll get to whatever I have to say on my own schedule, because he doesn’t push it. “Uh…well, no, not really. I mean, we had dinner at each other’s house a lot and went to parties together and stuff like that, but I never got to know her as well as I did Carl.”

  “What about Thelma? Did she and my mom hang out?” Thelma is Stan’s ex-wife; they’d been separated for years before they finally got divorced, and last I heard she was living back East somewhere.

  He’s looking really confused now, and I can hardly blame him. He stares off into space for a few seconds, remembering, and then shakes his head. “No, not really. Thelma had her own group of friends, and Lenore…well…”

  I lean forward. “Well, what?”

  He swallows, tugging at the collar of his T-shirt. “Lenore was an amazing woman, Verity. But she didn’t exactly fit into the whole domestic scene. You know what I mean?”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  He shrugs. “Thelma and her friends were focused on raising kids, school activities, that kind of thing. Most of them were housewives. Don’t get me wrong,” he adds quickly. “Lenore loved you and Jason more than anything. She was a fantastic mother, and always put your needs first. But she was never the playdate-and-cookie-baking type.”

  I bow my head. “I wish I’d known her.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He sighs. “She loved you so much, Verity. She was so happy to find out she had a little girl. Carl was over the moon about it too. But then she got sick not too long after you were born…”

  I think of the note—Your mother didn’t die of cancer…—and my mouth goes dry. “Do you…know what was wrong with her?”

  He tilts his head. “She had cancer. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. But…what kind?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, and when I look up at him, he’s giving me a strange glance. “You know I want to help you out, but this is getting kind of morbid. Why don’t you just cut to the chase and tell me what you’re after?”

  I stare at my hands in my lap, unsure. What will he think if I tell him? Will he insist on trying to help? Will he try to forbid me to go to Fairbreeze? He can’t stop me, of course, but as a cop he could make a lot of trouble for me if he decide
d to be protective.

  Finally, I decide to give him part of the story. I swallow hard and meet his worried gaze. “Yesterday I got a note in my mailbox. Handwritten, with no return address or stamp.”

  “Yeah…?” He leans forward.

  “All it said was, ‘Your father isn’t really your father. And your mother didn’t die of cancer.’ My voice trembles a little as I say it. Matilda makes a little whine, gets up, and flops across my feet. I stroke her head absent-mindedly.

  “Holy shit.” Stan lets out a long breath.

  “Yeah. As you might expect, it shook me pretty hard.”

  “Somebody was probably messing with you.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought too. But who would do that?”

  “You tell me.” I can tell by his aura that the note’s contents had shaken him, too. “Do you have any enemies?”

  I think about that. Alastair has a lot of enemies, but I can’t really think of any who might bleed over to coming after me. The only real enemy I’ve had, Mathias the Magical Pedophile from Las Vegas, is dead. I know that because I killed him. “I don’t think so. Not any who’d do something like that.”

  “And nothing’s new in your life right now that might make somebody want to get back at you?”

  I consider. I can’t even imagine Kyla doing something that cruel, no matter how hurt and pissed she was. I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I never would have let myself fall in love with her if I even suspected she was capable of that. “I don’t know.” I focus on petting Matilda, who seems not to mind at all. “I just broke up with my girlfriend last night, but…”

  “Well, there’s your first suspect,” he says instantly, narrowing his eyes.

  “No.” I shake my head. “She’d never do something that mean. She’s a really straightforward person. If she was pissed at me, she’d be more likely to punch me in the nose than send a note like that.”