by R. L. King
“You have told me about your son, and his need for training. Perhaps you might focus your energy on him.”
“Don’t you dare tell me how to handle my son, Stefan,” Stone snarled. Once again in the back of his mind, warning klaxons were going off: Danger! Danger! Hazardous area ahead! Turn back! But he ignored them as definitively as if he’d plowed through a physical barrier with a fleet of tanks. “This isn’t about Ian. This is about you.”
Kolinsky did not reply.
Stone spun away, turning so the black mage couldn’t see his face, even though he was sure his aura was in turmoil. His heart pounded, adrenaline coursing through him and fueling his growing anger and confusion. But when he spoke again, his tone was even and composed.
“Stefan…I’m going to say it one more time: if you know something about this situation—if you want me to walk away from it and forget what I know—then you’ve got to tell me why. You should know me that well by now. You should know how absurd it is to expect I’ll back off because of some vague warning with nothing to back it up. I’ve already been threatened by one other person—assuming it wasn’t you all along—and that’s going to do exactly bugger-all to dissuade me from looking into this. So unless you want me to toss your advice in the bin where it belongs along with that card there, give me a reason.”
For a second—only a second—something smoldered in Kolinsky’s black eyes. His jaw tightened, his posture tensed, and for a brief moment Stone wondered if he’d finally pushed too far and goaded the black mage to attack him. If that happened, he could be in trouble: even after Calanar, Kolinsky was one of the few mages left whom Stone doubted he could take in a magical battle.
Kolinsky didn’t attack, though. He drew a deep breath, another, and then the tightness in his shoulders relaxed and whatever had appeared in his eyes receded. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, continuing to regard Stone with his usual hawk-like, probing gaze. “You must do as you will, Alastair. My advice is offered to you as a valued associate…and if I may dare say it, a friend. If you choose not to heed it, I will be unable to involve myself in what might follow.”
“In what might follow.” Stone spoke in a monotone, all the anger drained from his voice. “But you won’t tell me what that is.”
Kolinsky said nothing.
Stone let his breath out. “Fine. You do what you have to do, Stefan. I’d have thought by now we could be straight with each other, but apparently your little secrets are more important to you. That’s all right.” He regarded the black mage for another moment, then turned and walked away. “I hope this is worth it to you. Because I’m not stopping. In fact, now that I’m certain something is going on and somebody of your power level has his fingers in the middle of it, I’m planning to step up my efforts to get to the bottom of it.”
He stopped at the door without turning back. “Want to stop me now? Wipe my memory? Kill me?” He spread his hands and remained facing away from Kolinsky. “Now’s your chance. Have a go, if that’s what you want.”
He waited, tense and ready, but no attack came. Once again, Kolinsky said nothing.
“Right, then. Goodbye, Stefan.”
As he closed the door softly behind him, left the shop, and trudged back to his car, Stone didn’t look back. He did, however, wonder if he’d just made a big mistake—or a dangerous enemy.
28
Stone almost wished he had a class to teach on Monday afternoon; it might have done something to distract him from his growing unsettled thoughts.
When he’d gone to Kolinsky’s shop, as he’d done dozens of times before over the years, he’d expected at best to get some insight into the situation with the rifts, and at worst for the black mage to tell him he hadn’t come up with anything but would keep looking. He’d never in his worst nightmares expected that Kolinsky might be part of the problem.
No, that wasn’t fair. Assuming his friend (is he still my friend?) had not lied to him, it sounded as if he knew what was going on but wasn’t actively involved with it. Stone wasn’t even sure how that could work: how could he know about interdimensional rifts popping up at random ley line confluences and not want to do something about them, or at the very least study them? Kolinsky was the only person Stone knew whose curiosity exceeded his own. If some mystery existed, especially one that pertained to magic, the black mage wouldn’t stop until he’d ferreted out every corner of its secrets. Whether he did that on his own or by trading information, items, and data with other people, his ultimate aim had always been to accumulate as much magical lore as he could manage. And, given his wealth and power level, that was undoubtedly a lot of lore.
Stone stopped at University Perk, his old favorite coffee shop when he’d lived at the Palo Alto house, and pondered his next move over a cup of industrial-grade brew. Now two different people had warned him off his investigations. But why? What could Kolinsky and this unknown being stand to gain from allowing these rifts to exist? Hell, what did Kolinsky and this being even have in common? He didn’t have enough data to even make a guess at this, since he’d seen the thing in Pennsylvania as barely more than a human-shaped glow of energy. He hadn’t spotted it in Iowa—true, he hadn’t been looking, but it hadn’t hidden itself from him when it had killed Clyde. He couldn’t even be sure the creature that had killed Clyde was the same one that had left the note in his mailbox.
He sighed in frustration. Kolinsky had been his best hope of gaining more information, a potential ally in the kind of search both of them relished. Without the black mage’s help, he didn’t know where else to turn. Eddie and Ward were already searching through the archives in England trying to find out more. His students’ extra-credit efforts hadn’t turned up any other credible leads, nor had Jason’s computer whiz. Verity was busy with her move, Scuro, and her friends in San Francisco, and even if she wasn’t, it was unlikely she could locate anything that he couldn’t find faster. She didn’t have those kinds of resources. Same with Ian, who was probably drunk off his arse at a party somewhere.
On a whim, he pulled out his phone and punched the private number for Nakamura, Trevor Harrison’s assistant at the Obsidian in Las Vegas. It was unlikely to get him anywhere, but he had to try.
“Hello, Dr. Stone.” Nakamura’s brisk voice came on the line after the first ring. “How are you?”
“I’m…confused,” Stone told him. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance Mr. Harrison is around? Or…reachable?”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Stone. He hadn’t been back here in quite some time. And as you know, I have no way to contact him directly.”
That was what Stone had expected, but he still felt a twinge of frustrated despair at Nakamura’s words. “Damn. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, though. But in any case—if he does pop in any time soon, could you give him a message for me?”
“Of course.”
Stone considered his words, and how much he wanted to reveal to Nakamura. Finally he decided there was no point in keeping secrets. Harrison trusted the man, and Harrison didn’t trust many people. “Tell him…something very odd’s going on with random rifts opening to other dimensional spaces, and I think there’s some kind of high-level conspiracy to keep anyone from finding out about them. I’ve been warned off pursuing an investigation, but no one will tell me why I should give it up.”
Nakamura chuckled. “So, naturally, you’re proceeding with it, full speed ahead.”
“Well, yes.” Stone chuckled too. “You know me too well, Mr. Nakamura—or else Mr. Harrison’s told you about me. But in any case, he’ll want to know about this, I think. Please ask him to contact me when he gets the message.”
“I will do that, Dr. Stone. But once again, I can’t in any way predict when he might return.”
“Not a problem. Better than nothing, I guess. Ta.”
He put the phone away and sighed. Well, that was that. Harrison was either on Calanar, or off traveling somewhere else, but either way he was out of communication. Stone s
upposed if he were truly desperate for answers he could do the ritual that would take him back to Calanar personally, but even as tantalizing as his current puzzle was, he wasn’t ready to take that step yet. Too many variables, and besides, he had no guarantee he’d even find Harrison if he did it—or that the man could get any further with the problem than he could. It was worth asking if he happened to be around, but not worth a chancy interdimensional jaunt yet, especially with the portals acting up.
So here he was, back at square one, out of reasonable options. For all his bold words to Kolinsky about continuing his investigations regardless of dire warnings, he found himself with nowhere else to go.
He drained his coffee cup, smacked it down on the table in frustration, and tossed a five-dollar bill next to it for a tip, then stalked out of the shop. Perhaps he’d study his ley-line map again and see if he could predict any other possible locations for rifts to appear. It wasn’t very scientific, but it was all he had.
He’d parked the BMW in front of the Dragon Garden, his go-to Chinese takeaway spot when he didn’t want to think about eating. He hadn’t had lunch yet, and briefly contemplated picking something up to take home, but as usual when he was focusing on a problem, his appetite for anything but coffee and alcohol had deserted him. As he passed the restaurant, however, another thought came to him suddenly.
He’d almost forgotten about her because she’d been away from the area for so long, but he did have one other associate with vast knowledge about the magical world. He hadn’t even checked in to see if Madame Huan had returned from her latest trip abroad—perhaps she had, and if so, she might have some ideas. If nothing else, she was always an excellent sounding board for him, listening patiently and offering insightful comments as he rambled on about whatever magical puzzle currently troubled him.
Huan’s Antiquities, Madame Huan’s combination junk shop and antique store, looked much the same as it always did—a neat little place on a tiny downtown Palo Alto street, sandwiched between a noodle shop and a clothing store catering to the kind of elderly woman who wanted to relive the styles of her youth. It was the sort of place you wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t looking for it, but even though it was often closed, it never looked abandoned or shabby. In a way, it was similar to Kolinsky’s own East Palo Alto establishment, except that while Stefan’s place looked like a good place for an unwary person to blunder into and disappear, Huan’s Antiquities had a welcoming air.
Stone parked down the street and hesitated. This was foolish. Of course she wouldn’t be at the shop—she was never there these days. He still suspected she maintained a private portal in the back; he’d never seen it and she’d never mentioned it, but it could explain how she managed to move so easily between her three shops (that he knew of) here, in London, and somewhere in China.
To his surprise, the By Appointment Only sign wasn’t present, and the door opened for him with a pleasant tinkle of an unseen bell. Even more surprisingly, the first thing he saw was a customer: a teenage boy rummaging through one of the shelves that brimmed with the familiar eclectic assortment of mismatched items. The boy glanced up at Stone as he entered, then returned to his efforts.
“Good afternoon! May I help you?”
Stone snapped his gaze up at the unfamiliar voice, and he tensed in surprise. Standing behind the cluttered counter was a pleasant-faced Asian woman—but it wasn’t Madame Huan. He’d never seen this woman before.
“Er—I was looking for Madame Huan. Is she here?” Unspoken in his tone was, who are you?
She seemed to pick up on this, though she didn’t answer it. Instead, she smiled ruefully. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but she’s not here. She was here earlier today, but she’s been called away on urgent business. Is there something I can help you find, perhaps?”
“I didn’t know she had any other help here.” Stone glanced around; the place looked no different than he remembered it, with its rows of dusty, overstuffed shelves and collection of wares that appeared to have been sorted by someone with a deep aversion to organization. It was one of the hallmarks of the shop, and Stone was convinced it amused Madame Huan to keep it so. For those in the know, the good stuff was stored—in a much more structured fashion—in the back, but nobody got back there without Madame Huan’s permission.
The woman chuckled, but didn’t reply directly. “So, how may I help you today? Are you looking for something in particular?”
You have no idea, he thought. ”Well—yes. Madame Huan. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t. I got the impression she might be away for some time, actually.”
Well. That was bloody inconvenient. Stone sighed, annoyed with himself. If he hadn’t stopped for coffee, and thought of coming here straight away after he left Kolinsky’s shop, he might not have missed her. “Damn,” he murmured. “All right. Thanks. Have you got a way to contact her?”
“I can pass a message along when she checks in. I’m afraid I can’t give you her contact information directly, though.”
“Fine.” It was one of the problem with old, powerful mages—they were difficult to contact using standard, modern means. Unlike Kolinsky, Madame Huan didn’t eschew the telephone, but she didn’t have a mobile, either—or at least if she did, she’d never told him about it. “Please tell her Alastair Stone would like to talk with her, and it’s rather urgent. She has my number.”
The woman wrote down the message, then flashed him another kindly smile. “Done, sir. I’ll pass the information along as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.” Stone paused a moment, appearing to look at something on the shelves behind her, but actually switching to magical sight. The woman’s aura was a clear, calm green, and he saw no duplicity or uneasiness in it. He sighed and headed back down one of the narrow aisles toward the door. Another avenue of investigation blocked.
As he passed the boy, who had crouched and was now examining an ancient bowling bag full of broken toys, the kid looked up at him. “You looking for the other lady who was here?”
Stone stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder, but the shop assistant had moved off down another row of shelves. “I am, yes.”
“She was literally just here. Like fifteen minutes before you got here. Bad luck, you missing her like that.”
“Indeed?” Stone crouched next to him, studying an old, elaborate world globe nestled next to a shaggy brown teddy bear.
“Yeah. Some guy came in and talked to her, and then both of them left through the back. The guy seemed…” He struggled for the word. “Not upset or anything, but like he had something really important on his mind.”
“Is that right?” Stone checked again, but the assistant was still nowhere to be seen. “What did this man look like?”
The boy shrugged. “Not like the usual kind of guy you’d see in a place like this. Tall, dark hair, old-fashioned black suit. I didn’t get a good look at him, sorry.” He indicated the shelves with a wave. “I’m looking for cool stuff to use in a video I’m making. That’s why I’ve been poking around in here so long. This place is awesome.”
Stone went still. “Old-fashioned black suit? Did you hear him speak?”
“Yeah, just for a couple seconds. He had some kinda accent. Like Russian, maybe.”
Bloody hell.
Stone rose to stand. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll find her—we’re old friends. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Thanks, dude. Hope you find your friend!” The boy was already focused back on his search, putting the bowling bag aside and picking up a wig form.
Stone got out of there without speaking to the shop assistant, and he didn’t stop until he was back in his car.
What in the hell was going on? Stefan Kolinsky had been here—had apparently come here with some haste after their conversation—and now Madame Huan had disappeared less than fifteen minutes ago following his visit?
Stone gripped the steering wheel, taking a co
uple of deep breaths.
If he didn’t know better—and he didn’t know better—he’d swear that not only had Kolinsky come to warn Madame Huan that he might be looking for her, but she’d fled her shop to avoid talking to him.
“Why would he do that…?” Stone murmured.
And worse yet, did that imply what he was fairly sure now it did: that not only did Kolinsky have some knowledge of what was going on with the rifts, but Madame Huan did as well, and neither of them wanted Stone to find out what they knew?
He slammed his fist on the wheel with a growl. Why were his two most trusted sources of magical information avoiding him, and why did it seem they wanted these strange rifts to go uninvestigated—at least by him?
As hard as he tried to fit this new information into a framework, it didn’t make sense. Sure, Kolinsky had always hoarded information and been immensely secretive about what he revealed, but in the ten years of their association he’d never outright refused to share something. There had always been a price, and sometimes that price was higher than Stone was willing to pay, but the whole thing had always been a business transaction.
But Madame Huan—her absence troubled him even more. She hadn’t been around as much as Kolinsky over the last couple of years, usually away on some artifact-hunting expedition on the other side of the world, but when she was around, she’d never been reluctant to talk to him. He’d known the kindly mage since his apprentice days, and visiting her had always been a pleasant, peaceful experience—also usually fruitful, when he was looking for information about something.
In fact, he’d always had the impression that while Kolinsky and Madame Huan respected each other, they were hardly the best of friends. That wasn’t surprising: Kolinsky never apologized for his black magic, and Stone had never met a more benevolent white mage than Madame Huan. Even though she had been the one to introduce Stone to Kolinsky shortly after he moved to the Bay Area, he remembered she’d done it with some reluctance, cautioning him to remain on his guard around the man at all times.
