The Other Side: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  “That’s done,” he said, dropping the ward and turning to make one last check of the altar. “Let’s get the hell out of here, shall we?” He stood and turned toward the entrance.

  An instant later, he spotted sudden movement behind Mortenson. “Edwina!”

  She yelped as a shadowy, mud-smeared figure shoved past her and darted into the cavern. Teetering, she lost her balance and fell hard against the wall. Her flashlight slipped from her hand and rolled away, its beam pointing off into the far corner.

  “You came back to steal my gold, you bastard! I knew it!” the figure shrieked, and only then did Stone identify who it was.

  Larry Duncan, looking like some kind of primal, crazed mud-monster with glittering red eyes, held a flashlight in one hand, waving it at Stone’s face. He had something in the other as well, but Stone, dazzled by the careening beam, couldn’t see what it was.

  Incandescent with rage, Duncan raised the thing in his other hand. “Die, you thieving motherfucker!”

  Only when it went off did Stone realize it was a gun.

  Time seemed to stretch out as the weapon’s deafening report shattered the space, echoing around the tiny chamber until it seemed the sound would never stop.

  Mortenson screamed.

  White-hot pain streaked across the top of Stone’s shoulder, but he barely noticed it.

  A rumbling sounded from above them, followed by a loud crack.

  Oh dear gods the timber’s going

  It all came down fast. So fast. Above the chamber entrance, the massive, rotted timber bracing the ceiling gave way, spilling a cascade of rock down toward Duncan and Mortenson.

  Stone had only a split-second to think, to decide, to act. His thoughts didn’t even form coherent words, but only a lightning-quick stream of consciousness: too much for shield can’t deflect can’t get both must do something must try

  He lashed out with a two-pronged spell, throwing up a barrier above the screaming Mortenson even though he knew it wouldn’t hold long enough, and grabbing her with a telekinetic grip to yank her toward him. His head exploded with psychic feedback as the rocks crashed down on the barrier and blew through it,

  but maybe it’s enough please let it be enough

  slamming into the space where Mortenson had been only a second ago

  did I do it please let it have worked

  as dust filled the air and pain pounded his head, spiked his eyes

  is she all right she’s got to be all right

  and then another crash, loud against the sudden quiet, and Mortenson’s scream of fear rose into one of agony.

  The world went to black.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Nobody attacked as Verity ducked to the side of the door and used magic to fling it open. “See anything?” she called to Jason.

  “Stairway. Come on.” He rose from behind his cover and hurried over.

  There was no light inside, but the flashing neon from the billboards along the building’s edge provided enough illumination to identify a featureless, institutional stairway leading down to another door. The guard’s keycard opened this one as well. Jason motioned for Verity to press herself against the wall, then quickly pulled the door open and did likewise, gun out.

  Still nothing attacked them. “Maybe they just didn’t expect anybody to come in from the roof,” Verity said. “Maybe they’re watching the elevator.”

  “I don’t think this is their area,” Jason said, looking around. “This looks like a maintenance hallway to me. I don’t see any cameras here. Think about it—they have to let the rest of the building have access to the roof if they need to fix the AC and stuff.”

  “So we’re looking for the door in?”

  “Probably a fire door, locked from our side. Remember, they’re bringing the paying customers up in the nice elevator. Nobody’s gonna come in this way. Come on.”

  Verity followed him down the gray-painted hallway. She spotted several doors on their left side, with labels like MAINTENANCE and AIR CONDITIONING and STORAGE; Jason shoved each one open and they peered inside, but they all looked like exactly what they claimed to be.

  At one point he waved for her to wait and dashed into one of the rooms, coming back with a hefty metal pipe about two feet long. “I don’t really want to shoot anybody if we don’t have to,” he explained, then nodded toward a corner up ahead.

  Nobody lurked around the corner, all but confirming Jason’s suspicion that this part of the building was communal space. What they did find was a substantial-looking double door. DO NOT ENTER – ALARM WILL SOUND was stenciled on it in bright red.

  “That’s got to be it,” Verity said. “But if we go in that way, it’ll alert everybody inside.”

  Jason was examining it. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Look.”

  Verity followed his pointing finger up to a large fire bell up near the ceiling. “What am I looking at? That thing looks loud.”

  “Yeah, but look up near where it connects. Somebody’s disabled it.”

  She looked closer and saw he was right—it was nearly impossible to see if you weren’t looking at it, but the spot where the connection met the box itself had been severed. “Guess they don’t want anybody going out the wrong door and setting it off—or else that’s how the guard gets back inside and they don’t want it going off when he does.”

  “Good for us, though, if you can get that door open.”

  “I can do that.”

  Jason stood back off to one side, gun drawn. “Okay, do it, then move to the side. It’ll swing out.”

  Verity’s heart pounded as she concentrated on the door. She felt more nervous now than she had when dealing with all sorts of magical threats in the past. Somehow, this seemed more real to her—men with guns, captive kids forced into unspeakable acts—if it weren’t for the fact that the operation was supposed to be run by a mage, this would be far more Jason’s kind of thing than it was hers. When she felt the door click, she let her breath out and stepped back. “Point of no return.”

  “Do it.”

  She swung the door open.

  Inside, an elaborate tapestry blocked the doorway, so they couldn’t see inside. No shouts or gunfire greeted them, but only the sound of light classical music.

  Verity sneaked along the wall until she stood next to the doorway, then used magic to push the tapestry aside enough so she could see and peered around the edge.

  “See anything?” Jason whispered.

  “There’s some kind of table in front of the tapestry, with vases on it,” she whispered back. “They really don’t want anybody using this door.”

  “They still don’t know we’re here? That’s weird.”

  A thought chilled her. “Jason—maybe they do know we’re here, and they’re escaping instead of fighting!”

  “Damn—you could be right. Let’s get in there!”

  Gun out and ready, he shoved aside the tapestry and pushed a heavy wooden credenza table aside, careful not to topple the vases. He moved into the room and off to the side, and Verity followed close behind him. “Stay close,” she said. “I can’t shield you if you get too far ahead.”

  “We need to move fast. If they get out, we’ll never find ’em.”

  They hurried down a plush-carpeted hallway lined with art prints. At the end of it, a set of heavy drapes obscured a wide opening. Jason and Verity crept down the hallway and stopped on either side of it, backs pressed against the wall.

  “I’m gonna take a look,” Verity said, pulling up her shield.

  Jason nodded, looking tense.

  Verity crouched low—if somebody on the other side opened fire, her shield wouldn’t be able to save her for long—and twitched the drapes apart just far enough so she could see what was beyond.

>   Beyond was a large room that looked like a lounge area. Sofas, comfortable chairs, and small tables were scattered around in groupings, leaving the middle part of the plush-carpeted floor empty. Two large chandeliers provided light, and double doors, currently closed, indicated exits on all three other sides. As far as Verity could tell, the room was quiet and empty. She shifted to magical sight but saw no telltale auras.

  “What’s there?” Jason whispered.

  “Looks empty. Doors on three sides.”

  “Great. Let’s pick one and go, I guess. Far side?”

  She resumed her spot on the other side of the hallway, feeling more and more like they’d missed their chance—that somehow whoever was in here had gotten a warning and made a run for it, probably evacuating through some hidden elevator. At least we’ve shut ’em down here, she consoled herself.

  That didn’t help the kids, though.

  “I’ll turn us invisible till we get across. Let’s go. Fast.”

  She cast the spell, and together they pushed through the drapes and darted into the room, intent on the door directly opposite them.

  They made it as far as the middle when something slammed shut behind them.

  All around them, grinning figures shimmered into view.

  “So nice to finally meet you two,” said a voice.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  When Stone awoke, the first thing he saw was the flashlight beam.

  It was pointed directly at him, lying on its side a few feet away. The light was still strong and steady.

  He couldn’t have been out long, then.

  He blinked, turning away from the beam, and a fit of coughing seized him, lighting up his head again. His shoulder hurt too. His chest and side hurt. Everything hurt.

  For a moment, his brain refused to provide him with the memory of what had happened. He lay there, trying to work his way past the carrier hum in his head, knowing there was something important he had to remember. Something had happened—

  Mortenson!

  Heedless of the pain, he scrambled to his knees and snatched up the flashlight, shining the beam around the cavern. “Edwina!” he croaked, and coughed again.

  A faint moan caught his attention. He wheeled toward the chamber’s entrance—or where the entrance had been, and memory flooded back.

  Duncan. He’d fired a gun into the chamber. The bracing timber, finally stressed past its ability to cope by the sudden loud noise, had given way and cracked in the middle, sending part of the ceiling down to block the entrance. He’d tried to get Mortenson out—where was she? Had he managed to save her? More desperate now, he flashed the beam around faster. “Edwina?”

  And then he spotted her. He sagged, icy dread crashing down on him. “Edwina…dear gods…”

  She was alive, but that was about the best that could be said. She lay on her back, her eyes clamped shut, her head rolling back and forth on the dirt floor. Her breath came in shallow bursts.

  He had managed to yank her free of the worst of the collapse, but not all of it. A massive rock the size of a chest freezer lay across her lower body, obscuring her from the pelvis down. Other, smaller rocks formed a drift against the larger one. Blood pooled beneath her, seeping from under the rock.

  Heart pounding, his own injuries forgotten, Stone dropped to his knees next to Mortenson and put his hand on her forehead. “Edwina…can you hear me?”

  To his shock, she opened her eyes. They looked glazed and dark with pain, but mostly lucid. “Alastair…?” she whispered.

  “Yes…it’s me,” he said gently, brushing her muddy hair off her forehead.

  Her hand fluttered at his arm. “Something’s wrong with me…”

  He gripped her hand and nodded, swallowing hard to keep his voice even. “I’m…afraid so, Edwina.”

  “It’s…bad, isn’t it?”

  He tried to answer her twice, but both times he couldn’t get the words out past the growing lump in his throat so he settled for another squeeze on her hand. Fighting against a rising tide of despair, he shined the flashlight beam at the rock. Perhaps if he could use magic to move it, he might be able to—

  Hell, who was he kidding? He’d heard stories of people who’d been crushed into a wall by cars—most of them (maybe all of them) had died as soon as the car was removed, even with emergency personnel standing by. They either bled out or succumbed to shock before they got to the hospital. Even if he got the rock off, there was no way his healing skills were up to the task of handling this kind of massive damage. He didn’t even think Edna Soren or Grace Ruiz could do it. And trying to heal her with the rock still in place would be worse than useless.

  He glanced around quickly, shining the light to take stock of the rest of the rockfall. It appeared to be confined to the entrance to the cavern—at least he hoped the whole passageway hadn’t come down. A few small openings in the top meant it was possible if the passageway was still open, fresh air could still get in.

  He was about to bring the beam back around to Mortenson when he spotted something else: a blood-streaked, mud-caked arm poking out from beneath a jumbled pile of rocks. His expression hardened. Duncan. The producer had bloody well gotten what he deserved, then.

  He knew none of this was Duncan’s fault, not really—he’d been under the influence of the curse, same as everyone else in the town. But given that his greedy meddling had likely rekindled the whole thing in the first place, Stone didn’t plan to spare him any sympathy.

  “Alastair…”

  He turned his attention back to Mortenson. “I’m here, Edwina. I’m not going anywhere…” He slipped out of his coat, folded it into a pillow, and gently slid it under her head. “Is that a bit better?”

  She nodded weakly. “Hurts…”

  “I know…I know…” He fought back the despair and frustration again: how could he be so bloody useless? He knew magic, damn it. He was supposed to be one of the strongest practitioners in the entire bloody country! And yet here lay this woman—his friend and colleague—in front of him, grievously injured, and he couldn’t do a damned thing about it that wouldn’t just kill her faster. All his ability—even Trevor Harrison’s strange magic, which elevated his power to another level—was useless in this situation. He couldn’t even try to get out and bring back help: for one thing, there was no help available, and for another, these rocks were stacked on each other like an interlocking puzzle. Moving one could easily bring the whole pile down, crushing Mortenson instantly. And maybe him too.

  So here he was. Waiting.

  Mortenson moaned again, and a little sob escaped her throat. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” she whispered.

  “Edwina…don’t…”

  “Please, Alastair…please don’t lie to me. Please don’t…” Her voice drifted away and hitched into another sob.

  He took her hand again. “It’s bad,” he said softly.

  She nodded. “You’ll…stay with me? Until…?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, and this time he didn’t manage to keep the catch out of his voice. “I promise.”

  Her hand tightened on his. “Magic…” she whispered. “All these years…and you never told me…”

  “I’m so sorry…I know…I should have…”

  “I was so unkind to you…”

  “No, no…you weren’t…”

  She coughed, and her face contorted. “I was…I’m sorry…wasn’t your fault…”

  “Edwina, don’t talk. You don’t need to—”

  “I…want to talk,” she said, and moaned. “It hurts…”

  He couldn’t sit there and do nothing! “Hold on…Let me see…” He shifted forward a little, moving closer to where the rock had crushed her. Blood stained her muddy tunic, gathering beneath her. He didn’t want to think
about what he’d see if he lifted it up—but he didn’t need to. “Let me see if I can do something to help you…”

  He didn’t know if he could do it. It was tricky magic in a style he had little affinity for—Verity had tried explaining the concepts, and while he understood them on a purely academic level, he’d never seemed to get his mind around the core empathy required to be truly effective at using them. That was his problem, he knew: it wasn’t his mind he needed to get around them. The mind was his realm, the place he felt the most comfortable. But empathy wasn’t about the mind, or the will. It was about the heart, about harmony, about setting things back to the way they should be.

  He couldn’t heal her—he knew that. But perhaps, if he could manage to break past his preconceived way of looking at the world for just a few moments, he might be able to ease her pain.

  “What…are you doing…?” Mortenson whispered.

  “Shh…I think I might be able to take some of the pain away.”

  “W…with magic?”

  “I’m going to try,” he said. No, he corrected. I’m going to do it.

  He shifted to magical sight, and winced. He knew Mortenson’s aura would be a mess, but he’d never looked this closely at such a severe injury before. Her normal red-purple was almost solidly red now, flickering and fading, with only hints of the original hue poking through, mostly up near her head. It was noticeably dimmer than normal, and as he watched, a little more of the red-purple trickled away and disappeared.

  The area around her abdomen was, as he expected, the worst: muddy and angry and alight with flickering energy. If it weren’t for her obvious shock, she would no doubt be in agony right now.

  How could he do this? He wished Verity or Edna were here—but if they were, he wouldn’t be doing it at all. This was all him—if he was going to ease Mortenson’s last moments on Earth, he’d have to stop convincing himself he couldn’t do it. What was that line from that film Jason had made him watch once, the one with the ridiculous green Muppet? “Do, or do not. There is no try.”