House of Stone

by T. K. Thorne

  “What if,” I say slowly, “there was a way to protect Segal from Iron magic?”

  Silence greets this question. Then Becca says, “then Segal would be a wildcard.”

  “How?” Tracey asks.

  “I’m not sure, but I was able to give additional living-green to Alice once. Do we know that a normal person can’t receive it and hang on to it for a while?”

  “Yes, we do,” Alice says. “That’s been tried many times. It doesn’t work, I’m afraid.”

  I chew my bottom lip. “There might be another possibility.”

  “What?” Alice asks.

  “In my mother’s letter, she said the rose-stone was able to ‘contain’ the powers of the Houses. And you mentioned it was possibly a receptacle for magic in some way.”

  She nods.

  “What if I poured living-green into the rose-stone and put it on a person, a regular person?”

  Alice sits straighter. “You mean would it protect the person in the same way being a member of a House is protected against other magic?”

  “Yes. I think you told me once that we can’t help taking in the living-green, just by the act of breathing; it’s in our cells. I’m betting that’s what protects us from other magics.”

  “Well,” she says, knitting her fingers together, “that is just a hypothesis.”

  Tracey looks at Jamal, who shrugs. “Don’t ask me. I got no idea how witch magic works.”

  “Even if you can store the energy in the rose-stone, how would we know it would work against Iron’s magic?” Tracey asks.

  I clear my throat. “There’s House of Iron in my woodpile.” Everyone looks at me. “So, I can do Iron magic.”

  Becca’s golden arches rise. Tracey looks stunned. I’d already told Alice, of course.

  “Then there’s only one way to know,” Becca says. “Let’s test it.”

  She is the only possible person in the room we could test. We don’t have enough time to wait for Segal.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” I say.

  “It’s just a test, Rose.” Becca’s hands go to her hips. “It’s not like you haven’t used that Iron magic on me. You just said that’s how you brought me back.”

  “That was different. I would have to try to manipulate you to test it.” I don’t know how to explain how abhorrent the idea is to me. You’re a hypocrite. You’ve used Iron magic before on innocent people.

  “I trust you. You have my permission.”

  I trust you. Becca has always trusted me. She followed me into hell. She trusted me to come after her in her own hell.

  Reluctantly, I pull the pendant off my neck and cradle the rose-stone in my palm. “I’m not sure how to do it.”

  Alice unlaces her fingers and sniffs. “You have poured living-green into me. However you did it, I’d start that way.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  I stare down at the rose-stone in my lap. As always, the intricate chambers draw me in. Alice says a red diamond’s atomic structure is an aberration. Can power reside in a crystal? I remember vaguely Alice once going off on a discussion about certain crystals being used in old radios. The crystals receive energy and release them in a controlled direction. She said diamonds generally conducted heat but not electricity, but the blue diamond was an exception due to the presence of an addition element. Sometimes I think I catch a secret gleam of blue in the rose diamond’s depths.

  “We know it can ‘hold’ some kind of energy or at least respond to it,” Alice says. “Remember the first time you touched it?”

  I do. I look up to Becca to explain. “It sent out some kind of signal that all the members of the Houses apparently felt. That makes it a transmitter of sorts, right?”

  She nods.

  “Worst case, you destroy it,” she says.

  “No, worst case, I hurt Becca.”

  “Let’s do it,” Becca says. She glances at a clock. “We have two and a half hours before you have to be there.”

  I take a deep breath, center myself and reach down, seeking the familiar golden pool of coal. How ironic that coal is black on the visual spectrum, but its essence is a bright warm glow to me. I make a mental note to ask Alice if she perceives it the same way. I’ve never thought to ask her.

  Almost effortlessly, I find a rich seam and pull it in. For a brief moment, I simply bask in it. This is what I was born to do, my inheritance from generations past counting. For a moment, the world is right.

  Then I lay a finger on the red diamond in my lap and channel the energy I have pulled into myself into the diamond. It has depths I never perceived before, chambers within chambers, like the spiral of a conch shell. I walk it over to where Becca sits on the sofa and place it around her neck.

  “Put it under your blouse,” I say, “next to your skin.”

  She does.

  “Do you feel anything?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and shrugs. “Nope, nothing except the weight of it around my neck.”

  “Okay.” I dump every bit of the living-green residue inside me I can find. If Alice is right, then I can’t really get rid of it, but the less there, the less chance of inadvertently mixing it with Iron magic. The only time I did that, it was extremely difficult. I had to rip carbon from its chemical bonds with another element. I fear it would be much easier to combine it the second time.

  Finding iron is no problem in Birmingham, but especially this near the foothill of Red Mountain. Unlike the gold of the living-green, iron’s energy feels dark and viscous. I pull it in.

  Standing in front of Becca, I touch a finger to her temple, focusing hard on restricting the flow to a tiny narrow channel. I’m well aware that too much can push her mind into a rasa, eradicate her beyond reach of any healing, any magic.

  After the smallest amount I can manage to give her, I whisper, “Stand.”

  She looks up at me and grins. “Nope.”

  “It works,” Tracey says. “I’ll be damned.”

  “Angola is not going to be as restrained,” I say, and we have no idea how long it will last.

  “Try more of the bad stuff,” Becca says.

  “No.”

  “Then how are you going to know?”

  “I won’t, but I’m not taking any chances with you.”

  “But that’s dangerous,” Alice says.

  I shrug. “It works or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, we are only back where we started.”

  We bounce around other ideas, but the facts are what they are. We can’t risk Angola hurting Kaleshia. Segal and I will go alone and unarmed. I’m placing my life and this whole thing in his hands. If he gives away that he is not under Angola’s influence, any advantage will be lost. This is obviously not police procedure, but we are way beyond that.

  We go over a map of the house and grounds I had drawn for our previous unsuccessful attempt at setting Angola up. The last time, entry was going to be a matter of timing. This time, we need stealth. “Lohan, if you can get the back door clear, that would give us an escape route.”

  “I’ll cover the front,” Jamal says.

  A knock at the door makes us all jump. Tracey, hand on his gun, pulls back a sliver of the sidelight curtain. I relax when he moves to open the door. Segal comes in, escorted by a patrolman.

  Tracey thanks the officer and dismisses him. Segal is a mess. It’s apparent he hasn’t given any attention to himself. A three-day sprout spots his chin, and he smells rank.

  “Segal, listen to me,” I say. “If Kaleshia is to have any chance, you have to do exactly what I say from here on out, even if it sounds strange, okay?”

  He nods, his bloodshot eyes desperate for something to hang on to.

  I check the clock. An hour and twenty minutes. “Do you have other clothes?”

  He holds up a gym bag.

  “Get in
the shower and change. Don’t worry about shaving. Got it?”

  He nods.

  “I’ll show you the bathroom,” Alice says, leading him down the hall.

  We return to the map. I give Tracey keys to both doors of my house. “This one is the back door. I think that’s your best shot. There’s an outside A/C unit just to the left of the door and thick bushes. I’ve been meaning to clear them out, but haven’t gotten around to it. If there’s a guard at the door, take him out quietly and stick him in the bushes.

  “I can handle that.”

  “If you hear gunfire, everything has gone to hell,” I say. “And I would appreciate backup.”

  He puts both hands on my shoulders, standing close. I can feel his breath on my forehead. “If I could do this for you, I would.”

  “I know.”

  “Rose.”

  “Don’t say anything sweet, Lohan.”

  He smiles and pulls me to his chest in a brief, restrained-steel embrace. “Okay.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  At the second knock on the door, Tracey and Jamal pull their weapons. Alice is closest to the window.

  “It’s that Iron man,” she says.

  Both Tracey and Jamal move to either side of the door. “Angola?” Tracey asks her.

  “No, I don’t know what he looks like. This is the man who was here before.”

  “Jason,” I say with a sigh. “She means Jason Blackwell.”

  Jamal moves the curtain aside. “I don’t see a weapon, but he’s facing the door. Could be one at his back or on an ankle holster.”

  “Don’t let him in.” I don’t want to risk Alice’s death being discovered a ruse. It’s the only thing protecting her from Iron.

  Tracey’s hand goes for the doorknob. “I’ll see what he wants.”

  “He wants to talk to me.” I bite my lip, conflicting emotions sparking in my brain.

  Standing to one side, Tracey opens the door. I move to the window, peering over Alice’s head.

  “Back up,” Tracey orders Jason, his gun drawn and level with Jason’s chest.

  Jason complies, lifting his hands.

  “Turn around.”

  There’s no gun in his belt, but Tracey isn’t satisfied until Jamal has patted him down.

  When the search for a weapon comes up empty, Tracey demands, “What do you want?”

  “I need to speak with Rose.”

  “Not happening. Tell me and I’ll tell her.”

  Anger ignites in my chest, and I step out onto the porch and grasp Tracey’s arm, which feels like holding a steel pipe. “I can make my own decisions who I talk to.”

  Tracey scowls, not happy. He takes a moment to process this, obviously wanting to stand between danger and me.

  “Give us the room . . . or the porch,” I say, knowing whatever Jason wants to say, he isn’t going to say it in front of Tracey or Jamal.

  Tracey knows this too. He’s also aware that however much he doesn’t like it, we can’t afford to reject any information that might tip the scales of the encounter with Angola. The odds are ridiculously against us. He glances at his watch. “You’ve got five minutes. Anything more will put . . . our subject . . . in danger.

  “I’m leaving the door open,” Tracey adds loudly.

  I don’t need to turn to know my partner is standing just inside the threshold. Jason may not know Tracey is House of Stone, but Tracey’s physical presence alone is intimidating, not to mention the gun in his hand.

  As soon as I move into the radius of Jason’s orbit, magic crackles between us. I think our hearts must beat together. Perhaps our brain waves are synced. I don’t understand it any more now than when I first experienced it, and I was wrong. It hasn’t gotten easier to resist. My thighs are wet. My lips actually ache. Every hormone in my body is switched on.

  I step back, breathing hard. A twitch on his perfect cheekbones and a catch of breath tells me he is as much under the magic’s sway as I am, and that gives me all the satisfaction I’m going to get at the moment.

  He swallows and points to the chairs at the end of the porch. They are far enough apart to give us a buffer and far enough from the doorway for a private conversation.

  We keep our distance and sit.

  “I only have five minutes. Say what you came to say.”

  “You are beautiful when you are angry, il mio amore.” A crescent smile. “You are beautiful when you are sad. When you are happy. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  “I have an idea. But that better not be what you came here to talk about because I don’t have time for it.” I focus on a mental picture of Kaleshia standing on my kitchen table, a bewildered look on her face, dark crescents below her eyes. She needs to be in a hospital. We can’t wait.

  “I will never give you up.”

  “Jason.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s just worth a minute of my five to tell you.”

  “Only four left.”

  He leans forward and I lean back. “Rose, I changed my flight to tell you that, as difficult as it is for me to believe—” He hesitates. “You are perhaps correct about Angola.”

  “You lied for him.”

  He sits back and shrugs. “He is House. I believed him.”

  “Why are you telling me now?”

  “I thought, I believed, that you were mistaken, that he was loyal to me, but I confronted him when you left our house.”

  “And?”

  “He has disappeared.”

  “And?”

  “I think he has been masterful in letting me believe that he was loyal to me all these years, but my eyes are opened. Everyone gives their loyalty and life to the head of House, beyond any other interest or pull. This is our universe. It is the heartbeat of our Family. Without this, we would tear apart, and we are already threatened with extinction.”

  “By the lack of children?”

  Surprise lights the blue ice in his eyes. “Yes.”

  I wonder if he knows why that extinction is happening or if he just knows that children have become very rare in his House. Even if I told him, he might not believe it. He’s been brought up with the “truth” that mixing the blood of Houses creates abominations.

  “Three minutes.”

  “What I am trying to say is that I believe the head of House of Iron has interests he has not shared with me. Interests that involve Angola and perhaps others.”

  “Samuel Blackwell?”

  “Yes.”

  I first met Samuel at an All Hallows’ Eve gathering shortly after becoming a detective. It’s difficult to reconcile the short, cheerful man with a silver cane who referred to himself as “Uncle Sam,” as head of House of Iron.

  “What interests?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then why are you wasting my time?”

  “You are also beautiful when you are in haste.”

  “Jason.”

  “I do not know Samuel’s agenda, but it is possible the fear you divulged to me has a basis of truth.”

  “Which fear?”

  “The fear for your life. The eradication of House of Rose.”

  “I already know that truth. Angola tried to kill me. Face to face.”

  He pales and his hands clench. “When?”

  “Recently. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Rose, I can’t protect you here. You must leave this country.”

  Strangely, the same thing Tracey said. “And go where?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I purchased an extra ticket to Rome. I must leave. Samuel has given direct orders. Come with me, amore. Once we are there, I will figure out what to do.”

  There is a part of me that wants to say yes and just walk away from what waits for me, fly away with him. Give in to the magic. A very strong pa
rt.

  “That’s sweet, but no can do.”

  He really does look devastated.

  “Tell me then what to do,” he says. “You have no conception of the power that is against you.”

  What would happen if I told Jason that Angola was a spider with a web spun at my house? And that he was demanding his prey come to him or he would kill an innocent child . . . or worse?

  I don’t know the answer to that. He’s just told me that he is not the one who pulls Angola’s strings. Even if he offered to go there himself and try to talk to Angola, it would be a useless effort and only put him in danger too, not to mention pissing off the spider. The stakes are too high to do that. I also can’t risk him getting an attack of conscience and telling the head of his House what our plans are.

  “Jason, I’m not going with you. I can’t. Don’t waste your breath trying to persuade me. All I can say is that I am . . . not easy to kill.”

  A wry smile. His mouth tightens in reluctant decision. “Then I must go alone.” He consults his watch. “My plane departs in three hours. You have my number if you change that stubborn mind of yours. I will hold the ticket.”

  I nod.

  “Take care, amore.” He reaches across the gap between us and lightly brushes my lower lip with his fingertip. I don’t try to stop him. I can’t stop the spike of sexual electricity or the thought that I’m an idiot.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Inside, I lean against the door, trying to get my breathing under control, and glance at the clock. Segal is in the shower. We have a little over an hour before we need to leave.

  Tracey stands at the window, watching, I’m sure, to make certain Jason is actually leaving.

  “Lohan, we need to talk.”

  He glances at me. “Okay.”

  “Alone.”

  He follows me to the kitchen, but I don’t sit. Instead, I pull back the chair and rug and lift the trap door below it.

  His brows rise, but he says nothing, following me down the stairs to my bedroom.

  “What is it?” he says, stopping at the threshold of my room. “Have you changed your mind? Rose, I’ll back you on that. It’s a crazy plan.”