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The Other Side: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

Page 31

by R. L. King


  Denise sidled up to him. “Everything will be fine,” she said. “I promise.” She stroked his arm. “Later, when you’re done with your filming, maybe I can loosen you up a little. How would that be? Did you get the little gifts I left you in your room? I’ll come by, and we can open up that bottle of wine, slip into something comfortable, and—”

  He spun, frustrated. “Denise, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this right now. I—”

  A loud pop sounded and the lights went out, leaving the crackling fire as the lobby’s only illumination.

  “Oh, no,” Denise said. She hurried over to the desk and picked up the phone as the Other Side staffers began filtering out of the restaurant. “Phones are dead too, so I can’t call Bill to come start up the generator.”

  “So we’re dead in the water here?” Stone asked.

  “He’ll be here soon—Don’t worry, all the rooms have candles, and we’ve got plenty of flashlights.” She opened a cabinet behind the desk and pulled out several, handing them around to everyone milling in the lobby.

  Stone took a quick glance at magical sight. For now, things seemed to be calm—the red mist was still swirling, but it hadn’t engulfed anyone at the moment. Maybe he still had some time.

  But wait—at least he’d thought it hadn’t, until he happened to catch a glimpse of Denise behind her desk. The mist hovered around her as it had around Mortenson, poking its way into her bright yellow aura.

  Odd—she hadn’t seemed short-tempered or angry with anyone. In fact, the way she’d been throwing herself at him—

  He stopped.

  Could it be that the curse wasn’t just focused around anger and violence? What if it amplified all strong feelings? Denise hadn’t shown more than a passing interest in him when he’d first arrived. It wasn’t until the next day that she’d started coming on strong. He tried to remember if he’d checked her aura since yesterday, and was sure he hadn’t.

  Okay, new data to add to his hypothesis. He wasn’t sure what he could do with it yet, but any bit of information could be important. At least Denise wasn’t likely to try to kill anyone, so that was something, but the sooner he put the pieces together, the sooner he’d have a chance of dealing with the curse before it overwhelmed the town.

  First, though, he needed an ally.

  “Got to go,” he said, switching on his flashlight and hurrying back down the hall. He didn’t like what he was about to do. If he was wrong, he could open himself up to a lot of trouble.

  But then again, he already had a lot of trouble. What he didn’t have was a lot of choice. Or a lot of time.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “Take cover!” Jason yelled, as all around them figures popped up from behind dumpsters and moved in.

  Verity darted her gaze back and forth: the attackers had them surrounded. She counted three that she could see: one at the downtown end of the alley, and two at the opposite end. She couldn’t tell how Ned was doing, or what had happened to him—all she knew by his flickering aura was that he was, for the moment, still alive.

  She flung a concussion spell at the one at the downtown end, figuring if she could take him down and he didn’t have hidden friends, they could grab Ned and escape out into the crowded Fremont Street, where with luck their attackers wouldn’t follow. The guy was ready this time, though, and not surprised by her magic. He dived sideways, back behind the dumpster.

  Next to her, Jason crouched behind Ned’s cart, poised to leap up. “How many?” He’d drawn his gun, but wasn’t pointing it anyone yet.

  “I see three, but I don’t know if that’s all of them.”

  “Come on out!” a mocking voice yelled from the other end of the alley.

  “You sure you want that?” Verity yelled back.

  In answer, the dumpster next to them suddenly jerked sideways, rolling down the alley toward the Fremont Street side, leaving them exposed. Laughter came from above them.

  “They have a mage!” Verity dropped, covering herself, Jason, and Ned with a shield. “Above us!”

  “This thing stop bullets?” Jason demanded.

  “Yeah, but not for long.”

  “Take power from me,” he ordered, rising to a crouch and talking fast. “Draw fire for a sec—I’ll see if I can take out the guy over there.”

  She nodded. They had to do this fast—Ned’s aura was already fading. If they didn’t help him soon— “Going now,” she whispered.

  She gripped Jason’s shoulder, feeling the power instantly singing through her body, along with his willingness to share it with her. It felt wonderful—if black mages felt half this good when they drained power from unwilling victims, she could see how it could be addictive. She flung another concussion beam up toward the guy on the roof, then leaped up and darted, low and fast, toward the middle of the alley. “Come get me!” she yelled.

  Nobody shot at her. Maybe they didn’t have guns. Something slammed into her shield, though—the guy on the roof was definitely a mage, and that could be a problem even with the extra power she’d taken from Jason.

  Jason, meanwhile, moved even faster than she had, vaulting across the alley in two long strides and barreling into the guy at the Fremont end. Both of them slammed hard into the wall.

  Verity, panting, looked around. One of their attackers was occupied, which left three for her to deal with. If it wasn’t for Ned, she and Jason could have just made a run for it back out to Fremont Street—she didn’t think even a group as crazy as the Hard Eights would keep a fight going on a busy street full of tourists. And speaking of tourists—how was it that none of them were noticing any of this? She couldn’t spare more than a glance in that direction, but most of them appeared to be ambling by like nothing was happening. Were they that oblivious?

  No time to speculate, though—even with Jason’s power, she couldn’t keep the shield up forever. The other two she could handle without difficulty, assuming they weren’t mages too. The mage was the one she needed to focus on.

  Okay, let’s take the fight to him. Let’s hope I was paying attention in Dr. Stone’s lessons…

  With a last quick glance at Jason, who seemed to be holding his own against his opponent, she ducked behind Ned’s cart and dropped the shield spell. She cast an invisibility spell on herself, paired it with levitation, and lifted up to the roof of the two-story building the mage was standing on.

  The guy didn’t see her coming, which was what she’d been counting on. She touched down silently a few feet away and behind him, dropped the invisibility (even with the boost from Jason, she was still fighting hard not to puff with exertion), and took a quick look around.

  The light was better up here, the flashing neon façades of the nearby buildings bathing the rooftop in weird multicolored hues. What could she do? It would be easy to hit the guy with a concussion spell, but she’d probably blow him off the roof. She wanted him out of action, not dead.

  The mage whirled—something must have clued him in that she was behind him. Grinning, he raised his hands.

  Without thinking, Verity used telekinesis to snatch up a piece of loose brick and fling it at the guy’s head. He caught on to what she was doing at the last second and tried to deflect it, but too late. The brick smacked into the side of his head with a satisfying thunk, his grin turning to a grimace as his eyes went unfocused and he toppled.

  Yes! She hurried over, checking as she passed to make sure he was truly unconscious (magical sight told her he wasn’t dead), and crouched next to the edge of the building where he’d been standing.

  Below, Jason had taken out his opponent behind the dumpster; the leather-jacketed thug lay unconscious next to him where he still crouched in cover, holding his gun by a barrel like a club. The other two had vacated their own cover at the other end and were now running along the same wall, ducking around the
other dumpsters and heading straight for Jason’s location.

  “Incoming!” Verity yelled, and threw another concussion spell at them, but they were moving too fast—it smashed into the dumpster behind them, leaving a dent.

  “Bitch got Kurt!” one of them yelled, glancing up as he ran.

  “Get the dude!” the other yelled, and both of them increased their speed toward Jason.

  He was ready, though. He rolled out from behind the dumpster and met their charge, clocking one with the butt of his pistol. The second one threw himself at him in a football tackle, wrapping his arms around Jason’s middle and barreling forward, slamming him into the wall. The gun flew from his hand and clattered to the ground a few feet away as Jason struggled to get loose. The guy was beefy, but Jason had a few inches and several pounds on him. The two went down in a flail of arms and legs.

  “Forgot about me?” Verity called. She didn’t expect him to hear her, but that was okay—the effect was the same. She grabbed hold of the second thug’s jacket in a telekinetic grip and flung him back, up and over the fallen first thug and nearly the length of the alleyway. She wouldn’t be able to do that for too much longer—even with Jason’s extra power and her bracelet, this kind of magic was hard on her endurance—but at least the guy was out of the way.

  Not unconscious this time, though. He staggered up and swayed for a moment, as if considering his options, then turned and took off toward the vacant lot.

  Verity let her breath out and took stock. Two down, one fled, one still in action. Better odds—but they couldn’t stay long. The one who’d taken off might bring back friends, and she couldn’t see the mage from down here. “Jason! Wrap this up!”

  Jason was happy to oblige. The first thug was struggling back up now; Jason ran forward and smacked him with the pistol butt before he’d fully gotten his bearings back. The gun-butt hit the guy’s head with a ripe thunk and he slid to the ground. Jason leaped up and stood over him, puffing. “We gotta get out of here before more show up—or the cops come.”

  Verity levitated back down to stand next to him. “We can’t just leave Ned here.”

  “What are we gonna do with him?”

  “Do something with those guys,” she said, pointing toward the two unconscious Hard Eights. “You got something to tie ’em up with?”

  “Yeah.” He pulled zip-ties from his pocket. “I’ll stuff ’em in the dumpster. But V—“

  “Hang on—I’m gonna check the mage. Search ’em too, yeah?”

  “On it. But V—”

  She didn’t answer, but levitated cautiously back up to peer over the edge of the building where she’d left the unconscious mage.

  He was gone. A quick check with magical sight revealed his aura off in the distance, growing smaller as she watched.

  Great, he was smarter than he looked. Get the hell out and live to fight another day.

  That’s what they needed to do as well—but first she had to take care of Ned.

  By the time she reached the old vagrant, Jason had already tied up one of the Hard Eights and tossed him in the nearest dumpster, and was heading for the second one. “Make it quick,” he said, glancing frequently back and forth between both ends of the alley.

  “Quick as I can.” She ducked into Ned’s makeshift shelter, crouched next to him, and did a fast examination.

  The cause of Ned’s distress was obvious immediately—the knife sticking out of his side. He moaned, his hands clutching weakly at the hilt.

  “Hold on, Ned,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “We’ll fix you up.”

  “I’m…done…” he wheezed.

  “No, you’re not. I got this. Just stay quiet, okay. Jason?” she called more loudly. She was amazed that, even after all of this, still none of the tourists had noticed enough to check things out. She just hoped none of them had called the cops.

  He hurried over. “V, we gotta go.” He stared down at the bloody wound where the knife stuck out of Ned’s side, and winced. “Holy shit.”

  She ignored his words. “Hold his arms, okay? Keep him still. I need to work fast once I pull this thing out. Whatever you do, don’t let him move around. Got it?”

  “Yeah. I got it.” He moved into position where he could grip the old man’s hands and keep him from grabbing at the knife hilt. “Calm down, Ned. You’ll be fine. V’s got the touch.”

  “Hospital…” Ned groaned “Dyin’ here…told ya…”

  “Shh…” Verity gathered her concentration and pulled power from her bracelet, which she’d charged up that afternoon. She’d never heard Stone mention drawing power from Jason twice in such a short time, and she was afraid to try it, even for this. The bracelet would have to do. “It’s okay…” she murmured, shifting into the deeper version of magical sight she used for healing.

  Ned must have been in the right town, because he was a lucky old bastard. On closer examination, she determined that the knife hadn’t done significant damage, which was something of a miracle given where it had gone in. With a quick thanks to whatever gods looked after washed-up old gamblers, she grabbed the knife-hilt and pulled the blade straight back.

  Ned winced and tried to draw up into a fetal ball, but Jason held him down. “V—”

  “Shh…” She sharpened her focus until she could see nothing but the wound, and began her work.

  Only a few minutes later, she let her breath out. “There…” she said. “He should be okay now.”

  Jason, who’d continued scanning the alley as if expecting a whole battalion of Hard Eights—or Las Vegas police—to show up any moment, nodded in relief. “Let’s get the hell out of here, then. What are we gonna do with him?”

  “We’ll take him with us. I can use an illusion to make him look like he’s just drunk. C’mon, help him up. I’ll get his stuff.”

  It was a testament to the continued obliviousness of the Las Vegas tourist crowd that nobody paid any attention to them as they headed back to the car. Ned’s arm was slung over Jason’s shoulder like they were escorting an over-imbibing friend home after a night of hearty partying. In fact, they weren’t the only one doing the same thing: by the time they made it back to the car and Verity dropped the illusion, they’d spotted two other groups with at least one member who looked like he or she wouldn’t make it home under their own power. It was one of the few good things about the new, not-so-improved Vegas, Verity supposed—you could get away with just about anything short of full-out mayhem and everybody just left you to it.

  Ned had regained more of his senses by the time they slid him into the front seat of the Mustang. “Wha…?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter as Jason pulled out of the parking lot. “What the hell?”

  “Chill out,” Verity said from the back seat. “Everything’s cool. We’re on the way to the bus station.”

  “But—” He probed at the place where the knife had been. “I got stabbed. Right? I’m not high or nothin’, am I? Nah, I see the blood, and I still feel like shit. But nothin’ hurts. Nothin’s bleedin’. What—?”

  “Told you V had the touch,” Jason said. “Don’t ask questions, okay? Better for your overall mental health.”

  Ned twisted around and stared at Verity in wonder, eyes wide in his pale, blotchy face. “You guys got me outta there. You coulda just left me, but you got me out.”

  “Yeah. Told you we would.” Verity tried hard not to wrinkle her nose; Ned clearly hadn’t showered or washed his clothes in a good long time.

  “And you took out those guys? All those guys?”

  Verity patted his shoulder. “It’s all good, Ned. We’re gonna take you to the station and you can get out of here. Okay?”

  “Your stuff’s in the trunk,” Jason added. “Might want to put something on to cover up that big bloodstain before we go in.”


  They located the bus station, retrieved Ned’s belongings, and helped him swap his coat for an equally aromatic sweater he had in his duffel bag. After checking to make sure he still had his hundred dollars, he gripped Jason’s arm. “Listen,” he said. “I wanna thank you two. I owe you one. I don’t figger we’ll ever see each other again, but if we do, I owe you guys big. Not everybody’d stick around and help out an old washed-up bum like me, y’know?”

  “You take care of yourself, Ned,” Jason said. “Go somewhere warm.”

  “Yeah. I need a drink, is what I need.” As they turned to go, he held up a hand. “Wait a sec, hold on.”

  “What?” Verity stopped and turned back.

  “Somethin’ else I didn’t tell ya before.” He leaned in close. “Mickey Toro, the guy yer lookin’ for—check out the off-track betting joint at the back of the Palomar. I seen him there a few times, yeah? Be careful, though—place is crawlin’ with Zocchis.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The hallway leading to the rooms was deserted now; most likely, everybody else was up at the Brunder place getting ready for the shoot, or holed up in their rooms on the opposite side where Riley and the other stars were housed. That was good—the longer some of the worst offenders, like Riley, stayed away from each other, the better.

  Stone paused in front of the door, then squared his shoulders, braced himself, and knocked.

  “Who is it?” Mortenson’s voice called from inside.

  “It’s me. Please let me in. I need to talk to you.”

 

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