Devil's Bargain: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles)

by R. L. King

  “You’re—going to use this to find Emma?” I asked nervously.

  He was already at the shelves, grabbing items and arranging them on a small table nearby. “Yes, exactly. You can put the rabbit there on the table and sit down if you like. This will take a while, and this part is fairly boring for spectators.”

  I sidled over to the old couch that was the room’s only furniture, aside from the table and a workbench on the other side. My heart pounded, and once again I began to wonder if I’d made a bad decision by coming here. Nobody knew I was here, and now I was in a closed basement behind a heavy locked door with a guy who could very well be crazier than I was—and more dangerous. Even if he was on the level and could use magic to find Emma, he could still end up demanding things I wouldn’t, or couldn’t, give in exchange. And if he really knew magic, there was no way I could resist him. I wondered if I should make a run for it while he was distracted.

  He must have sensed my unease, because he looked up then and flashed me a comforting smile. “I know this has all got to look fairly disconcerting to you. No helping that—magic can be disconcerting by its very nature. But I promise—I’m not planning to sacrifice you to Baphomet or anything. I hear he prefers a good steak anyway.”

  I tensed, and he chuckled. “Calm down, Ms. Huntley. You’re in no danger here. Just bear with me for a little longer, and you’ll see.”

  With reluctance, I let myself relax and settled back to watch.

  It took him about half an hour to set up the circle to his satisfaction. He moved around it, placing little stands with crystals in them at various points, alternating them with small candles. Then he got out what looked like a bag of sand—or maybe it was kitty litter, I couldn’t tell from where I sat—and carefully poured it out to add more lines between some of the candles and crystals. When he was finished, he’d added quite a bit of detail to the basic circle.

  “There,” he said, standing up straight and stretching out his back. “That’s done.” He retrieved a shallow copper bowl from one of the shelves and stepped into the circle’s center, which he’d left clear. “Bung me that rabbit and we’ll get started.”

  I stood and looked him over. He’d removed his long black coat, but still wore the same jeans and Pink Floyd T-shirt he’d worn earlier. “That’s it?”

  He tilted his head. “That’s what?”

  “No…mystical robe? No blood? No dancing naked while chanting spells?”

  He sighed, with an exasperated smile. “Mundanes. None of you believe in magic, but you’ve certainly all got some fairly specific ideas about how it works. No, Ms. Huntley. No robes. The only robe I own is my dressing-gown. And I never dance naked with people I’ve just met. Not if I haven’t bought them dinner first, anyway.”

  In spite of my growing nervousness, I had to smile. “Okay. Sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

  “Nor do you need to be. We’ll get this sorted, just you wait. Toss the rabbit here.”

  I grabbed the pink-and-white stuffed bunny from the table. I paused to linger my gaze over it, picturing baby Emma gumming happily away at its floppy paw. I’d never even met her before Chuck’s funeral. I’d sent a couple of gifts, one following the birth announcement and one a couple months later, but I’d never even asked to visit. It had just felt awkward, and the longer I waited, the more excuses I found not to do it. Now, I wished I had. Would I ever see her again?

  I threw it to him, and he caught it deftly. “Now, then,” he said. “I need to go over what I call ‘Circle 101’ with you before we begin.”

  I stiffened again. “You—don’t want me to do anything, do you? Because—”

  “No, no. I don’t want you to do anything at all. That’s the basics of Circle 101: that you don’t do anything. I want you to sit there on that sofa, and no matter what you see, don’t get up, don’t approach the circle, and whatever you do, don’t break it or even touch it.”

  “Wh-why not? What will happen?”

  “Oh, terrible things. The house could blow up, you could open a rift in time and space, we could all be sucked into a wormhole to another dimension—” He stopped when he saw the stricken look on my face, and laughed. “No, no, nothing like that. With this kind of ritual, the worst that could happen is that you give me a whopper of a headache for the next several days. That and make the ritual fail, of course. So don’t do it. Can I count on you for that?”

  I glared at him, but his laugh had been cheerful, not mocking or nasty. None of this was a big deal for him. He probably did things like this all the time, which was at the same time terrifying and comforting. “I promise. I’ll sit right here no matter what happens.”

  “Good. I’ll get started, then.” He placed the shallow bowl in the circle’s center, then lowered himself down until he sat cross-legged in front of it, facing me. He took several deep breaths, put the stuffed rabbit in the bowl, and closed his eyes.

  A moment later, I gasped as all around the circle, the candles flared to life. Each one flickered with a different color flame—orange, yellow, blue, green, purple. I glanced at Stone again, but he hadn’t opened his eyes or changed expression. He must have expected that—but how had he done it?

  A few moments later, the crystals in their little stands began to glow too, even more brightly than the candles. The color seemed to come from inside each of them, as if they were tiny lamps, but unlike the candles, they all glowed in the same sunny yellow. As I continued to watch them, they began to pulse gently, and before long I realized they were pulsing in the rhythm of a heartbeat. But whose? Stone’s? Emma’s?

  For the first time since I’d met Stone, I began to believe—truly believe—that magic might be real.

  I looked at him again. He looked like he was exerting effort now, his jaw tight, his shoulders stiff. A few small beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and the damp spikes of his hair drooped. His lips moved a little, as if whispering something, but I couldn’t hear what it was. I leaned forward, tense with anticipation. What was happening? Was anything happening? The stuffed rabbit lay in the bowl, unmoving. Was whatever Stone was trying to do not working? Would—

  Suddenly, with the kind of loud whump! you might hear when somebody tosses a lit match into a room full of natural gas, a bright blue flame rose up from the bowl and engulfed the bunny. It wasn’t like it burned—it was more like the strange fire instantly consumed it. One second it was there, and the next nothing more than a pile of gray ash remained in the bowl. All around the circle, the candle flames leaped up, then died, and the yellow lights from inside the crystals winked out.

  Silence hung in the room, except for Stone’s breathing and my heart pounding in my head.

  “D-did it work?” I asked in a shaky voice, but Stone ignored me. He was still sitting in the same position, and still appeared to be concentrating hard on something. His face looked pale, and the beads of sweat on his forehead grew until they ran down his cheeks and dripped in his lap.

  I almost jumped up and went to him. Was he all right? Had something gone wrong? Was he going to pass out—or worse yet, drop dead of a heart attack? I had no idea how I’d explain to the police what I was doing in a freaky basement with a magic circle and a dead occult studies professor. I—

  Stone drew a deep shuddering breath and snapped upright. His head jerked up and his eyes flew open. They fixed on me as if they didn’t see me, and then his gaze locked in and he slumped, letting his breath out. His back and shoulders rose and fell as he panted. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. “I always forget how much those take out of me.”

  “Are you—okay?” I asked. “Can I get up now?”

  He dragged himself up. “Yes. The circle’s dead now. You can’t hurt anything.”

  I stared at him, afraid to ask the question that was the only thing I cared about. “Did…did you find Emma?”

  “I did.”

  I couldn’t tell if he sounded triumphant or distressed. “Is she…alive?”

  “She is.” He took a
nother deep breath. “Come on—I need something to drink, and then we’ll go.”

  “Is she far away? Is she in San Francisco?”

  “She’s not far. Not in San Francisco.”

  “Well—where, then?” I tried not to sound impatient, since he obviously needed a moment to get himself back together, but I couldn’t help it. “Dr. Stone, where is Emma?”

  When he told me, the shock of his words hit me like a wall. I gasped and nearly sagged on the way up the steep staircase. He caught my arm, steadying me with a strong grip until I could grasp the railing. “No…” I whispered. “Are you serious? All that time, ever since Susan died, she—”

  “Come on,” he said, and his expression was less tired now and more grim. “I don’t think she caught on that I was looking, but best to get this done as quickly as possible before she does.”

  15

  I didn’t complain about his driving this time, or even worry about it. In fact, if anything I wanted to encourage him to go faster. I leaned forward in my seat, gripping the dashboard and craning my neck as if I expected to see Emma ahead of me, somewhere along the road.

  How could I not have noticed something?

  But that wasn’t fair, and I knew it. There wasn’t any way I could have noticed anything. How could I? This was an altogether unusual situation, and adding another bizarre and unexpected twist to it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

  Stone exited the freeway, and a few minutes later we pulled into Susan’s driveway for the second time today. I moved to get out, but he put a hand on my arm. “Let me handle this,” he said softly.

  I could only nod. What would I do? I had no idea. My heart thudded, and I felt heat prickling at the back of my neck. I prayed he was right, that his strange magical ritual had led him to Emma and that she was safe.

  He didn’t go to Susan’s door, but instead strode across the yard toward Mrs. Bond’s house. She wasn’t in the yard now, but I could see evidence of today’s gardening project in the colorful row of flowers planted along the edge of her property. Halfway up the walk, Stone paused and did his fuzzy-gaze thing again. “No wards,” he murmured as if to himself. “At least not around the house.” Then he stepped onto the porch, past the pair of white wicker rocking chairs with a small table between them, and rapped sharply on the door.

  A moment later, Mrs. Bond answered. She looked like she always did: a sturdy old lady wearing a beige cardigan over a flowered housedress. She peered at us through small, round glasses, and smiled at me. “Oh, you’re back. Did you forget something, dear? Or did you want to take me up on my offer of a cup of tea?”

  “Er—yes, that would be nice, if the offer’s still open.” I fought to keep my voice steady. “D—Alastair and I were just stopping by to pick up a few more papers from Susan’s house, and I felt like I was being rude today, leaving so soon without stopping to chat.” Stone had already told me to act as if he were someone I was seeing. I was sure Mrs. Bond would see right through that subterfuge—short, frumpy women with soccer-mom haircuts didn’t date tall, handsome British men in long coats—but I sold it as best I could.

  “Oh, think nothing of it, dear. Please, come on in, both of you. I’ve just put a pot on, so your timing is perfect.”

  It was a good thing Mrs. Bond couldn’t do that thing Stone did to see auras, because I was sure mine had to be going crazy right about now. As we followed her inside, he gave my arm an encouraging squeeze.

  The old lady’s house looked pretty much as I imagined it would: heavy old furniture, lots of doilies, floral prints, and fussy lamps. Her kitchen table was round, covered with a lacy tablecloth and surrounded by four elaborately carved chairs.

  “Please—sit down,” she said, walking to the stove where a teapot was whistling. “I’ll bring you fresh cups in a jiffy. I’m so happy you stopped by—it’s lonely here without Susan popping in. Has there been any news about Emma yet?”

  “I’m afraid not. The police are still looking.”

  “Such a shame.” She clucked sympathetically, shaking her head. “A terrible shame.”

  “Mrs. Bond, may I use your bathroom?” Stone asked.

  “Oh! Of course, dear. It’s just down the hall. The door’s open.”

  Now came the hard part. We’d discussed the plan in the car on the way here, and my job was to keep Mrs. Bond distracted while Stone poked around with magic, trying to find where the old woman was keeping Emma. I hoped desperately that I could keep it together and not give anything away—but hope had nothing to do with it. I had to keep it together. I didn’t have a choice.

  I still hadn’t gotten over my shock when Stone had told me he’d tracked the baby to the house next door to Susan’s. “You’re—kidding,” I protested. “How can that be? Could you have gotten something wrong? Could your ritual have—I don’t know—tracked the toy back to where more of her toys were? Where her home was?”

  “That’s an excellent deduction,” he’d said in approval. “Well done, Ms. Huntley. We’ll make a magic scholar out of you yet. But no, that’s not possible. I got a strong reading, and it didn’t point at your sister’s house.”

  “But why would a sweet old lady have kidnapped Emma? How could she have done it?”

  “She’s almost certainly in league with Madame Minna. My guess is the old witch arranged for her associate to keep the baby, to take care of her until she’s older.”

  “That’s—crazy.” I realized everything about this was crazy, but this was off the charts. “She used to watch Emma. She told me that—she said she watched her when Susan and Chuck needed a night alone. She could have grabbed her at any point.”

  “I don’t know why,” Stone said. “You said Madame Minna didn’t try to collect on the bargain until recently. Perhaps she was waiting until the ch—until Emma was old enough to be a bit more independent of her mother.”

  I gasped. “Oh, my God. I just remembered something! At Chuck’s funeral when I met her, she told me she’d only known them for a few months—ever since she moved in next door. So she hasn’t been there very long!” Gaping at him in shock, I said, “Do you think…is it possible she moved in next door because of Emma? Because that horrible old witch wanted a spy around to keep an eye on her?”

  “That’s entirely possible, yes. It makes a lot of sense.”

  “Oh, my God…” I rubbed my face with both hands. What had I gotten myself into?

  “Here we are!” Mrs. Bond’s kindly voice startled me from my memories. She set a delicate cup of steaming tea in front of me and another at Stone’s place, then retrieved her own cup and sat down.

  “Thank you so much.” I picked up the cup and feigned taking a sip. Stone had cautioned me about eating or drinking anything the old lady gave us. “I wish I had better news about Emma. I’ve barely slept with worrying about her.”

  Mrs. Bond gave a sympathetic nod and patted my hand. “I know, dear. I know. I can only hope she’s somewhere safe—I know it’s a horrible thing to say, but it’s better if someone’s taken her than if she somehow…” She sniffled. “…died in that awful accident and they haven’t found her somehow.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s happened,” said a voice from the doorway, startling me. “And I don’t think you do either, Mrs. Bond, do you?”

  I looked up, and so did she. Stone stood there, his cold, intense gaze locked on the old woman.

  She blinked, confused. “I’m—sorry, dear. I’m afraid I don’t know what you—”

  “You know exactly what I mean. Now, then—are you going to hand over the child, or will you force me to hunt her down? I know she’s here somewhere, and I will break your illusions, you can count on that. But if you hand her over like a good little witch’s flunky, I might not break your house along with them.”

  I expected Mrs. Bond to shrink away in fright—hell, I was scared of Stone at the moment, and he was supposed to be on my side—but instead a slow, sly smile spread across her face. “So, you’ve found out.” She glance
d at me. “What gave it away? Did you suspect something, dear?”

  “She didn’t suspect anything—but lucky for her, she was bright enough and open-minded enough to look for some professional help when she found out a witch was extorting her sister. Too bad Madame Minna took that as justification to commit murder. She’ll have that to answer for too. Now—enough stalling. Where is the baby?”

  “You have no right to take her,” she said, glaring right back at Stone. Suddenly, she didn’t look like a kindly, doddering old lady anymore. Her expression was every bit as steely as his. “The bargain was lawfully made, and properly sealed. Madame Minna kept her end, performing the service the woman asked for, but she chose to renege. The rules are clear. She promised the child in payment, and that payment will be made.”

  “Wait!” I yelled, unable to keep quiet anymore despite Stone’s words. “She—you—can’t just take a baby! I don’t care about your rules! You can’t just take a baby away from her mother! Where is she?” I pushed past her, throwing myself down the hall toward the rear bedrooms, flinging them open one at a time. My adrenaline was pumping so hard by now that I barely noticed myself moving—I felt like I was flying down that hallway.

  Mrs. Bond didn’t seem to mind, nor did she follow me. When I’d looked in all three bedrooms, the bathroom, and the den with no sign of Emma, I spun around and returned to the kitchen. “Where is she?” I yelled. “Tell me, or I’ll call the police right now!”

  The old lady laughed. “The police can’t help you, dear. They won’t find anything either. If you call them, they’ll come and they might even search—but when they find no sign of the baby, they’ll check their records and discover you’ve already accused Madame Minna of kidnapping with no evidence. They’ll probably take you off somewhere for observation.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” Stone said. Unlike me he spoke calmly, but his voice had a dangerous edge. “You might fool the police. You might fool Ms. Huntley. But you won’t fool me.”