by R. L. King
What was going on?
He turned around with magical sight still active, looking back the way he’d come. More color—not as much, though, and when he returned to mundane sight, it disappeared.
Behind him, something rumbled.
Stone spun. That was definitely not supposed to happen. Sound in here, even if you were foolish enough to scream at the top of your voice, got attenuated, leveled out, until everything from the loudest shout to the softest whisper had the same lifeless plod.
The rumble didn’t repeat, but instead a series of sounds approached, filled the tunnel, and then receded. Birds? It had sounded for all the world like a flock of squawking birds flying by and disappearing into the distance.
Okay, enough of this. As always, Stone’s scientist’s mind was tempted to remain here, to shift back to magical sight, to take readings and note down observations. If something weird was going on with the portals, that was a thing the magical community should know about. Especially if it was causing trouble.
But despite the strangeness, these odd phenomena didn’t seem to be causing any trouble. Stone felt no sense of dread, no foreboding, no impression that he should get himself the hell out of here before something he couldn’t handle showed up.
Still, though, he didn’t know what was going on here, and he didn’t know what might show up if he remained. His best bet was to get out safely, then either ask around in Chicago to see if any of the other mages in the area had noticed anything, or go back in with better preparation.
Already the bright colors were fading around him, even with magical sight active. The tunnel had returned to its former dead silence, his footsteps to their usual soundless trudge.
Up ahead, he now spotted the dimmed, doorway-shaped space that indicated the other end of the portal, just as he’d expected to. As he continued walking, the colors faded further until at last, when he reached his destination and turned for one last glance behind him, he saw nothing but grayness.
He stepped through the doorway, already pulling a notebook from his coat pocket as the gray faded and was replaced by a dimly-lit space, full of wooden crates and smelling strongly of ale. He looked around for a light switch but saw none, so he used the flickering light of the portal itself for illumination as he quickly jotted down everything he could remember about what he’d experienced in the Overworld. He didn’t think he’d forget, but you never knew with magic.
Those kids in Iowa probably hadn’t thought they’d forget whatever weird experiences they’d had at the abandoned paper mill, either.
He finished his notes and shoved the notebook back in his pocket, pushing past the stacks of crates, through a closed door, and out into a hallway. The only light here was a single, naked overhead bulb. Around him, he heard only silence: no far-off sounds of music, clinking glasses, or muffled shouts of bar patrons who’d had a few too many. In fact, it was almost as silent here as it had been in the Overworld.
“This is getting odder by the minute,” Stone muttered aloud, mostly because he wanted to hear his own voice. It sounded normal, not deadened as if he were still in the tunnel. He shifted his bag on his shoulder and pushed open the door at the end of the hallway.
More darkness. This time, he did find a switch; another hanging fixture lit up a narrow staircase leading upward. His heart beating a little faster now, he took the steps two at a time, shoved open the door at the top, and hurried toward the archway ahead.
“Bloody hell…” he murmured. “What’s going on?”
The bar was dark and quiet, the chairs stacked in neat rows on top of the tables, the lights turned off, the space empty. Clearly, the place was closed.
Had it gone out of business? Stone didn’t always get the most up-to-date information about the magical community outside California, but surely someone would have mentioned a major portal hub closing.
Besides, if it had closed for good, the shelves behind the bar wouldn’t still be lined with rows of sparkling liquor bottles.
Stone frowned, looking at his watch. Seven forty-five. He hadn’t updated it for the time-zone difference, so it should be two hours later here. That was prime drinking time, especially on a Friday night—the place should be packed.
So why wasn’t it?
Confused, he navigated by the glow of the EXIT sign to a door at the front, which opened on another stairway leading up. When he got to the top, he found the door there locked. He unlocked it, settled a disregarding spell on himself long enough to ensure no one would spot him leaving, then pushed it open and stepped out, locking it behind him. Public portals worked on the honor system—travelers could use them even when their associated businesses were closed, but were expected to touch nothing and leave the place locked up when they left. There were ways to track anyone who broke the rules if necessary, but it rarely was. If a mage wanted a few free drinks or some food, it was easy enough to get them in other ways, without putting his or her future access to the portals at risk.
Stone exited the bar onto a nearly deserted street.
Now he knew something weird was going on.
He paused, looking up and down the sidewalk. Judging by many of the nearby businesses on both sides of the street—more bars, restaurants, and nightclubs—the area should be as packed as he’d expected the bar to be. People should have been ambling along, talking, bar-hopping, looking in shop windows, hurrying to their next destination. The street itself should have been choked with traffic, creeping along and honking displeasure at each other. Instead, the occasional vehicle—a few cars, more trucks—meandered by, their lights fading into the distance as they turned a corner.
“Hey, man, spare some change?”
Stone started. He’d been so focused on the dark, empty street that he hadn’t noticed the old man shuffling up behind him. “Er—”
The man watched him with placid patience. He wore a shabby coat and carried a large black garbage bag slung over his shoulder, probably full of recyclable cans and bottles he’d been collecting. “Change?” he repeated, in a tone that suggested he didn’t expect to get any.
“Er—” Stone said again. This whole situation had definitely knocked him off his game. He fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out a small wad of dollar bills he’d stuffed there and forgotten about. He pressed them into the man’s gloved hand. “There you go.”
“Thank you, sir. God bless.”
As the man started to shuffle off again, Stone called, “Excuse me—”
“Yeah?”
Stone noticed him tense, as if he expected his benefactor to laugh and wrest the bills back from him. “Do you know why everything’s closed?”
The man did turn back then, regarding Stone with confused suspicion. “Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Well—it just seems odd for it to be so deserted when it’s not yet ten.”
The old vagrant snorted. “You musta had too many, friend.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Lost some time, looks like.” He gave a philosophical shrug. “Happens. I once got so drunk I lost three days. Couple years back. Man, that was a real bitch.”
Stone stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
Again, the man shrugged. “Prob’ly drank too much, lost some time, if you think it’s ten.”
“Well…then…what time is it?”
“I dunno. Don’t got a watch. But the bars close at four, so it’s gotta be, I dunno, four-thirty, five-like.”
Stone’s stare became a gape. What the hell was he talking about? Four-thirty or five a.m.? That was impossible! If that were true, it meant he’d spent the last seven hours in the Overworld. He gripped the man’s shoulder. “You’re having me on. This is some kind of joke, right?”
The bum gave him the side-eye and sidled quickly away, almost as if suddenly considering him a threat. “I-I don’t want no trouble, man. Thanks for the money. I’m gonna go on my way now, okay?”
Stone let him go. What else could he do? Either the bum wa
s lying to him or he wasn’t, but he didn’t feel like hassling the guy further. He shifted to magical sight and studied the man’s aura, noting its sickly yellow hue showed the darkening of age and infirmity, but no overt signs of subterfuge.
After the man disappeared around a corner, Stone picked the opposite direction and began walking. He had no idea where he was going and didn’t care, except that he wanted to get to a place that had a clock. An old bum who didn’t even have a watch couldn’t be counted on to have the answers he needed, but surely a gas station or all-night convenience store would.
It took him fifteen minutes at a brisk walk and two changes of direction before he spotted the bright glow of a 7-Eleven ahead. He increased his speed to a jog and shoved inside, glancing around for a clock. Aside from the clerk behind the counter, the place was deserted.
“Help you find something?” the clerk, a burly African-American man with a bald head and a Cubs T-shirt, called.
“Just—looking for the time. My watch stopped.”
The clerk glanced at his own watch. “Four forty-five.” He eyed Stone as if expecting trouble. “You wanna stay, you gotta buy something, though.”
“Er—right.” He got a cup of coffee from the machine and dug a twenty from his wallet. “Four forty-five, you say?” He checked the man’s aura, but it looked normal, beyond the usual mild tension convenience-store clerks everywhere probably got when lone customers walked into their stores at the ass end of morning.
“Yeah. Somethin’ wrong?”
“No—nothing. Thank you.” He snatched his coffee and change and headed back outside, heart still pounding. Pausing to take a sip of the hot, black liquid, he discovered it tasted terrible and tossed the rest in a nearby trash can. It was only then that he remembered his mobile phone.
Idiot. You’ve got a clock in your pocket.
He yanked it out and clicked it on.
Where the screen would normally have displayed the time, a series of garbled characters appeared, all the way across. As he watched, they flickered.
Well. That’s lovely.
Before he thought better of it, he hit the button for his contact list—which thankfully displayed properly—and touched Verity’s number.
It rang several times before she answered, and when she did she sounded bleary and muddled. “Hmm…Doc? Is that you?”
Of course she sounds that way—you woke her up, you muppet. If it was four forty-five a.m. here, that meant it was quarter to three in California, well past when even his night-owl former apprentice would be asleep. “Verity?”
He heard the muffled tone of another woman’s voice in the distance—probably Kyla. “Yeah. What’s wrong? It’s—”
“It’s late. I know. I’m sorry to wake you. Is it really almost three in the morning there?”
“Uh—yeah. Ten till. Why?” There was a pause, and when she spoke again her voice sounded sharper. “What’s wrong? You wouldn’t call and ask me something like that if you didn’t have a reason.”
“I…do have a reason. Something odd is happening, and I’m trying to make sense of it. I’m in Chicago. I went through the portal less than half an hour ago.”
“That late? That’s weird, but—”
“That’s the point. It wasn’t that late. When I went through, it was a bit before eight p.m., California time.”
“But—”
“And when I came out, it was four forty-five, Chicago time.”
Silence.
“You begin to see my problem,” he said dryly.
“Uh…yeah.” She sounded fully awake now. “Do you have any idea what happened? Did you get drunk? Pass out?”
“Nothing like that. The Overworld was acting…strange, though.” He described the odd lights and sounds he’d experienced on his way over.
“Wow. And you’ve never heard of anything like that before?”
“Never. I’ve traveled these portals hundreds of times, and that’s the first time I ever experienced anything like that. Clearly I’m going to need to do a bit more investigation. But if I were you, I’d avoid the portals for a while, just to be safe. At least the one to Chicago.”
“I’ll get right on that.” She still sounded nervous, but amused now too. “Canceling that trip to Chicago right away—oh, right, I wasn’t planning one.”
“Hush, you. Sorry again to bother you. Go back to—whatever you were doing.”
“You sure you’re all right?”
He almost answered quickly, with a reflexive, “Of course I am,” but then he paused. Was he? Could it be that whatever he’d seen in the Overworld hadn’t been the portal itself, but him? He felt fine, but that wasn’t necessarily an indicator. “I… think so,” he said at last. “I think I’ll just head to the airport at this point, and on to Devil’s Creek. It’s probably just an isolated incident.”
“A glitch in the Matrix,” she said, but didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Keep in touch, okay? And be careful.”
“I promise, on both counts.”
He called a cab, then put the phone away and leaned back against the building to wait for it to arrive. The temptation to go back into the Overworld to see if the same thing happened again nearly overwhelmed him, but for now he resisted it. He’d come here for a reason, so might as well deal with that first.
5
Devil’s Creek, Iowa turned out to be a bit more than a wide spot in the road, but not by much. After a short, uneventful flight and a longer, equally uneventful drive in an uninspiring rented Ford sedan, Stone pulled into town at shortly after noon. The sign at the edge of town read, Welcome to Devil’s Creek. Stop by and stay a while! Below it, a smaller sign proclaimed, Population 2,322.
He cruised up the main street, scanning both sides of the street. Neat, old-fashioned buildings lined it, interspersed with trees. The cars parked along it were older and mostly American, and the people he saw wore neat but serviceable clothes. Not a pretentious place, but without a doubt a pleasant, homelike one.
He pulled the Ford into the tiny parking lot of a small eatery halfway up the short street, noting it was nearly full. Must be a popular place. He spotted a newsrack outside the front door and paused to buy a paper before heading inside.
As soon as he entered, he realized he probably should have changed clothes, or used an illusion spell to obscure his appearance. The little bell on the door jingled, and then every gaze in the room was on him, with the exception of one baby in a high chair. He supposed he couldn’t blame them—his long black coat and Cardinal Sin T-shirt hardly blended in with the jeans and work shirts favored by Devil’s Creek’s population.
To their credit, the restaurant’s customers quickly returned to their business after giving Stone a curious once-over. A middle-aged waitress in a classic uniform bustled over and flashed him a smile. “Welcome. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
“No. Just arrived.”
She led him to a booth next to a window looking out over the parking lot and handed him a laminated, single-page menu. “Coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Stone settled back in his seat, well aware that a few of the customers were shooting surreptitious glances his way but ignoring them. Instead, he briefly examined the menu, then opened the paper and scanned the front page, wondering if it would include anything about the incident at the paper mill.
He’d found nothing by the time the waitress returned bearing a steaming cup of coffee. “Ready to order, or do you need a little more time?”
“I’ll have the special, thank you.” He looked over the room again; he could see all the other tables from where he sat, and most of the other customers appeared intent on their meals. “And if you have a moment, I’d like to ask you a question.”
She tilted her head. “What kind of question?”
“There’s an abandoned paper mill near your town, is that right?”
Suspicion flitted across her plain features. “Why do you ask?”
“W
ell…I heard something about an unusual incident that occurred there recently.”
“Where did you hear that?” Now there was no mistaking the suspicion. “I really can’t talk now, sir. I have to get back to my—”
He held up a hand. “No, please. I promise, I’ll only take a moment of your time. A friend of mine showed me the story in the local newspaper, and I was intrigued. I was hoping to find out a bit more about it.”
“Why would you want to do that? It wasn’t anything.”
Stone shifted quickly to magical sight, and noticed that not only did the waitress’s aura seem uneasy, but the couple at the next booth had both become a lot more attentive while pretending not to be. He flashed his best charming smile, the one that almost always worked on middle-aged straight women. “I’m a bit interested in that sort of thing. I was in the area, so I thought I’d pop by and see if I could find out anything that didn’t end up in the papers.”
She sighed. “Listen, sir. I’m sorry—I hope you didn’t come too far. That story blew the whole thing out of proportion. Lots of young people sneak into that old mill. They’ve been doing it for years. This time, they just had a party and things got a little out of hand. That’s all it was.”
Stone nodded. “I heard they all claim not to remember what happened.”
“That’s probably because they were doing something they shouldn’t have been and now they’re afraid they’ll get in trouble with the police.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t see why people are so worked up about it. It was nothing.”
“I see.” Stone handed her the menu. “Right, then. I won’t take any more of your time. But could you perhaps tell me where I might find this old mill?”
“Why?” The suspicion edged up again. “You shouldn’t be going out there, sir. There’s a fence around it, and if they police catch you, you could get yourself in trouble. My advice is to leave it alone.”
Stone considered her words. “Fair enough. Thank you for your time. The coffee’s excellent, by the way.”
