The other creature, however, had other plans. It fell on top of him, raking its claws across his arms, his chest, his legs. Beyond coherent thought now, he screamed, trying to shove it away. It was far too heavy for that, though, and in any case he had no strength left.
It grabbed his arm and began dragging him back toward the armoire. He felt his shoulder pop out of its socket, and new waves of agony washed over him.
“
NO!”
he cried feebly, struggling to break free. The creature’s claws sunk into his arm as it dragged him toward the opening with relentless strength. His last conscious thought as he finally blacked out was to wonder if anyone would ever find his body.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The first thing Stone noticed when he awoke was that he was chilled to the bone. He lay on his back on a surface of cold stone, crumpled like a broken doll, every muscle shivering, despite his efforts to quiet them. Fearful of what he might find, he opened his eyes.
He was in total darkness, so thick that he couldn’t hope to pierce it. He heard no sounds at all: no screams, no skittering of rats or flapping of bats, no ripping-skin-on-bone sounds from the horrific creatures that had poured through the armoire’s open door. The only thing he could hear was the ragged sound of his own breath as it wheezed in his throat.
He coughed, and must have passed out again from the pain. After a few moments—or perhaps it was a few hours, he had no way of knowing—he struggled again to consciousness. This time he didn’t try to move, doing his best to take inventory from a still position.
Why am I not dead? Those things ripped me up—
Very carefully, still shivering and miserable, he moved his arms to his stomach. He was terrified of what he would find there.
There was no crust of dried blood, no sudden flare of agony. His thin T-shirt had ridden up when he’d fallen; he shoved it up the rest of the way and probed the skin of his chest and stomach with tentative fingers. He was whole and unslashed. He pulled the shirt back down, though it did nothing to alleviate the bitter cold.
What the hell—?
He lay there, listening. Still no sound, but he smelled the musty, dusty odor of the room he was in. He realized why it was dark:
The flashlight’s batteries died. How long have I been out?
Convinced now that whatever grievous injuries the creatures had inflicted had somehow only been in his mind, he dragged himself up to a seated position. His ribs still burned and he was unable to stop shivering, but aside from that he seemed to be mostly unhurt. He risked a light spell.
He was sitting on the stone floor of the circle room. The armoire was still there, still slightly cracked open, but a quick look with his magical senses confirmed that he had managed to supplement the protective wards around it before things had gone south. He was fairly certain that as long as no one tampered with it, it would hold long enough Adelaide’s charity ball to go off safely. Still, complete certainty was a luxury you didn’t get very often with this kind of magic.
He struggled up to his feet. His legs felt like limp rubber, his whole body weak, as if he’d exerted himself too hard for too long without a break. His head throbbed from the strain of channeling too much magical energy, and he tasted the sharp tang of blood, probably from another nosebleed. He staggered over to the table where he’d left his sweater, and shrugged into it. That was a little better; at least the shivering abated somewhat. Then he glanced at his watch: he’d started the ritual around 9, and it was a little after 10:30 now. He’d been unconscious for about an hour.
Gripping the table, he fought to understand what had happened. What had he seen? Had the creature showed him something? The night it was imprisoned, perhaps? Why? Had it wanted something from him, and he’d managed to fight it off?
He had no idea. Right now he didn’t care very much, either. He still had a long way to go before he even reached the main part of the house, and he wasn’t sure his legs were up to the task. He wanted nothing more than to lie back down and let the blackness have him again, but he couldn’t do that. Not yet.
Somehow, he made it out of the hidden room (the bookshelf was a struggle: he’d never been the strongest of men physically, and right now he wouldn’t bet on himself in a fight versus a reasonably robust kitten) and back through the enormous room full of piled-up furniture. There was no creaking or swaying now: either the thing was truly locked back away, albeit temporarily, or it had expended enough energy in putting on its little stage show that it was resting. Either way, Stone slowly headed back, retracing his steps until he reached the stairway to the service area, and the door where he’d broken the lock what seemed like a very long time ago.
Barely on his feet now, he moved down the hallway, back through the kitchen, and continued until he reached the main part of the house. He didn’t know where Adelaide and Iona were, but if they were still awake he guessed they were probably in the sitting room, especially if she’d had a new television delivered by then. As he drew closer, he was rewarded by the sound of the TV and of faint voices coming from the room. Holding on to the open doorframe, he called, “Mrs. Bonham—?”
She turned, and her eyes widened as she got a look at him. After a second, Iona turned too. “Oh, dear God, Dr. Stone! What happened?” She got up and hustled over to grab his arm.
“I’m—I’m all right,” he mumbled. “Just—tired.”
“You’re white as a ghost, and covered in blood worse than the other night!” she protested, steering him toward a chair. Adelaide moved closer, her blue eyes huge with fear. She was about to say something when another voice came through the open door where Stone had just come in.
“Alastair? What the
hell
are you doing here?”
Stone sagged in the chair even as he turned toward the new voice. He already knew who it was, though.
Tommy Langley stood in the doorway, his face dark with anger.
Stone closed his eyes. It hadn’t been his night thus far—why start now? “Tommy.” His voice sounded infinitely weary.
Langley stumped up and stood over him. “What the hell—” he started to repeat, then got a good look at Stone. “What happened to you?”
Iona had left the room and now returned with a washcloth, which she used to mop Stone’s face. “Leave him alone, Tommy.” To Stone, she said, “Dr. Stone, what happened? Your nose is bleeding again. And you’re so pale...I should call someone—”
He put a limp hand on her arm—he couldn’t summon the energy to fight her. “No...it’s fine. Really. Just—so tired...”
Adelaide just stared at him, eyes big in her pale face. “Dr. Stone—” she ventured, very tentatively. “Did you find—?”
He nodded.
“Is it—”
He struggled to open his eyes. “I think—you’ll be all right. For now.” His words came out on little rushes of air, barely audible. “It isn’t gone, but it’s—contained.”
“Then—we can have the ball? It’s...safe?”
“I want to come back again tomorrow—do a few more checks—but I think so.”
“Wait a minute,” Langley protested. “You’re not coming back. You’re not even supposed to be here
now
. I don’t know what’s going on here, but you promised me you wouldn’t do this. You gave me your
word,
Alastair. You—”
Stone wasn’t sure how it happened, but sitting there in that chair, exhausted to the bone, ribs aflame with pain and barely able to draw a full breath, something snapped inside him.
He couldn’t do this anymore.
Who cared if anyone knew? What difference did it make? Why was he making all this effort to keep what he did a secret when all they wanted to do was hinder everything he tried?
Gritting his teeth, he struggled to his feet and glared at Langley. “Shut up, Tommy,” he growled.
“What?” Langley’s eyes got big and he took a step back. This dead-pale, bloodstreaked madman wasn’t the cheerily sarcastic Alastair Stone he went drinking with on Friday nights in Palo Alto. “You can’t—”
“I can and I will.” Stone’s anger, his rage and frustration at his inability to fully deal with the situation and the ignorant mundanes who kept getting in his way, gave him energy. He took another step forward, and Langley took another one back.
Adelaide made a little moan of fear, but both men ignored her.
“Listen—” Langley began, his own anger rising.
“No.
You
listen.” Stone’s voice wasn’t loud—in fact, Langley had to watch him closely to make out all of it—but there was something in it, a quality of authority and cold steel that drew Langley up short. “I’m bloody tired of trying to keep you happy in your ignorance, Tommy. I won’t do it anymore. I can’t. Not now.”
“What are you talking about? Sit down before you fall down.”
Instead, Stone took another step forward. He had a good four inches of height on Langley and used it to his advantage, looming over the shorter man like some kind of bloody, avenging spirit. His eyes locked onto Langley’s. “What you want doesn’t matter, Tommy. Not a bit. Not anymore.”
“Wait a minute—”
“Shut
up.”
He paused, getting his breath. The anger-fueled energy was still there, but it wouldn’t last long. “You’re going to listen to me now, Tommy. Not another word. Your aunt is in danger. This
house
is in danger. There’s something here that needs dealing with, and I’m going to deal with it. Somehow. And you’re bloody well not going to get in my way while I do it.”
Langley stared at him. “You’re
crazy,
Alastair. You’re insane, and you’ve got my aunt scared to—”
“You think I’m a fake?” Stone growled, gritting his teeth again, his eyes blazing. “You think I’m a charlatan, and all of this is a sham?” He pointed his hand at Langley and, still not blinking, sent him reeling backward onto a large couch a few feet behind him.
Adelaide and Iona both yelped in surprise.
Stone ignored them, moving implacably forward until he towered over the terrified Langley again. “I’m not a fake, Tommy. I’m the real deal, and the danger here is real, too. I’m not going to let some hidebound mundane with no imagination drive me off. I plan to see to it that this lady and her home are safe, as long as it’s in my power to do it. Do I make myself clear?” The last sentence came out like spaced bullets from a gun. He held up his hand, letting blue energy crackle around it. Lightning danced in the dim light.
Langley stared at it, transfixed. He shoved himself back on the couch, clearly trying to put as much space between himself and Stone as he could. “What—
are
you?” he whispered.
But before Stone could answer, Adelaide did. Her voice trembled, but her words were clear. “He’s a friend, Tommy. He’s a good man, and he’s helping us. I know you don’t believe, but I’ve
seen.
So has Iona.”
Next to her, Iona nodded. She, too, was trembling.
Langley’s gaze darted back and forth between Stone and his aunt, settling once again on the mage. “You—”
“She’s right, Tommy.” Stone was swaying now, the power going out of his voice. The lighting around his hand fizzled and died. His outburst spent, his energy was draining away like water, and his exhaustion was coming back and bringing friends. “This is—too big for you to stop now. Just—either help me, or get the hell out of my way.” His legs buckled and he dropped, slumping across the other end of the couch from where Langley was cowering.
“Oh, God,” Iona breathed. “Dr. Stone, let me call someone—”
He wasn’t quite out, and he struggled to stay focused against the rising tide of grayness creeping inexorably across his brain. “No…Just—let me use your spare bedroom again. I’ll be—all right—in a few hours.” He wasn’t even sure if he was actually speaking the words or just thinking them.
The last thing he remembered before the grayness finally won was Iona’s stern voice ordering, “You heard him, Tommy—make yourself useful and take him to the bedroom.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Ethan rested his head against the window in the BART train, looking out at the rain.
It was nine o’clock on Monday night. He wore a heavy parka, and his ubiquitous backpack rested on the seat next to him. On top of it was a slip of paper containing the directions Trina had given him for the club where they’d start the night. He’d already visited his mother today—she’d been a little more awake, so he told her that his magic studies were going well, and that he’d met a woman he liked and who liked him. She could do little more than smile at him and weakly squeeze his hand, but he could tell she was happy for him. He’d kissed her forehead and left with a feeling that if his mother approved, things must be okay.
His mind drifted back to his last night with Trina. It was doing that a lot lately. So much, in fact, that he’d started wearing baggier pants in addition to carrying his backpack to use for cover if need be. It was an occasionally embarrassing side effect, but he wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything in the world.
He hadn’t told her he was a virgin, but he suspected she’d known anyway. She didn’t tease or laugh at him—she was incredible. That was all he could say. He couldn’t even be jealous about the fact that she’d certainly done this many, many times before. All those times didn’t matter now. She was doing it with
him.
And the twinkle in her eyes, the curve of her smile, the way her body responded to his told him that she liked it. She’d used her hands, her body, her mouth to drive him to levels of ecstasy that he didn’t think it was possible for a human being to experience. She only let him have a little alcohol beforehand (“Don’t want to dull your senses,” she’d said with a grin) and afterward she lay stretched out naked next to him on the pillows, quite unselfconsciously, and shared a joint with him. They lay there for what seemed like hours, just listening to her odd, spooky music and watching the candles flicker. He didn’t remember much about the trip home, because the theater of his mind insisted on playing back every detail over and over, so they would be seared indelibly into his consciousness forever. He didn’t ever want to forget that night.
And now maybe tonight, after he helped them out with their ritual—maybe he and Trina could do it again.
He slumped a little against the window when he thought about the ritual. He didn’t want to think too much about it, because it made him feel guilty. He’d even been defensive with Stone this afternoon, and he knew that was dangerous. Stone had seen something—he knew it. But how much? Ethan thought he might have managed to deflect some of Stone’s suspicions by showing him how well he’d done with his levitation spell, but this was different. The other night had been a one-off—he hadn’t expected to be doing anything more than watching the last ritual, and had been surprised and nervous when they’d pulled him into it. This time he was going to San Francisco to meet up with Trina and her friends for the express purpose of doing another ritual. And this time they actually needed his help with it.
He let his breath out.
I shouldn’t do this. I should turn around and go home. He’s going to find out. And if he does, he’ll kick me out.
But...
If he didn’t go, then he wouldn’t have a chance of another night—maybe many more nights—with Trina. His mind spun myriad exciting possibilities: perhaps she’d like him enough that she’d give up her other lovers and hook up with him exclusively. Maybe he’d even think about moving up to SF after Mom got better. Maybe he could move in with Trina. She had mentioned that they might have another spot open in their circle—
Really, why did he have to learn from Stone at all anymore?
The thought shocked him, in the way new thoughts that hadn’t ever occurred to you before tended to do. He hadn’t even ever considered that option.
Did
he have to learn from Stone? He was a mage. He had the stuff; he’d proven that. He could learn from anybody. Sure, the original plan had been that he’d apprentice for Walter Yarborough in England, but Yarborough was an old family friend. A friend of his dad’s. Who was Stone? A friend of Yarborough’s, sure, but Ethan had no particular obligation to him. Did he even
want
to learn magic in Stone’s old-school, rigorous, and discipline-heavy style? Trina and her friends were powerful, respected mages—and they had
fun
with their magic. They used it to help them, to get what they wanted, to revel in the power flowing through them and what it could do for them. For Stone, it seemed like some kind of—
responsibility.
For Trina’s friends, it was a tool. A game. A weapon, even.
Ethan wasn’t quite ready to explore such a subversive line of thought. He realized he didn’t have to, though. Not yet. If he could keep his extracurricular activities from Stone, then he might be able to live his “double life” long enough to figure out what he really wanted to do. If he could learn from both Stone
and
Trina’s group, that would give him a leg up on his magical education. Trina already knew about Stone, and didn’t care. If he could keep Stone from knowing about Trina, then—
He smiled. He could do this. And then he wouldn’t have to give up his nights with Trina.
After what he’d experienced the other night, he was pretty sure if Stone ordered him to stop seeing her, he’d just tell him to go to hell and that would be the end of it.
The train clattered to a stop at his station, and he hefted his backpack and exited with several other people. He barely even noticed the pouring rain.
The club where Trina had told him to meet her was two blocks from the station. By the time he reached it, his whole body was damp and chilled, even through his parka. He paid the cover at the door, checked his coat and backpack, and headed in to look for her. Even then, after all this time, he still experienced a quick panic that she’d stood him up. Some old habits died hard, and some corner of the back of his mind still saw himself as the awkward geek that girls wanted nothing to do with.
But no, there she was, right where she said she’d be. There was a small knot of guys around her who appeared to be trying to get her attention, but when she saw Ethan she waved them off and motioned him over. “Hey,” she said with her ubiquitous grin. “You look like something the cat dragged in.” There was no malice or teasing in her words, though.
“It’s a little damp out there,” he admitted, sitting down.
She smiled. “We’ll warm you up, don’t worry.”
“Where’s Miguel?” he asked, looking around.
“He had some other guys—er—things to do for a while,” she said, shrugging. “He’ll be around for the ritual.”
“How’s Oliver? Still sick?”
“He’s a little better, but still piled up under about nine blankets and bitching that he needs more Kleenex.” She snorted. “Guys are such fucking babies when they’re sick.”
“It’s because we like it when hot girls take care of us,” Ethan said without thinking. It just sort of popped out; he followed it with a sheepish, apologetic grin.
She just laughed. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth? But c’mon—do I look like Florence fucking Nightingale?” She waved at the bar and after a moment drinks appeared for both of them. She scooted her chair a little closer to his. “So,” she said, “You ready for this?”
Ethan noticed that, whenever he was with Trina, nobody seemed to care that he was obviously underage. He picked up his drink and took a sip. “I’m ready,” he said.
“No guilt about what Stone might think?”
He shook his head. “I don’t care what he thinks. He won’t find out anyway.”
“That’s the spirit!” she said, smiling and touching his arm. “You’ve already come so far, Ethan. It’s kind of cool to watch. I hate seeing mages being slowed down by the old guys’ stupid rules. Let them take it slow and easy. The power’s there to grab—why not grab it and make it your bitch?”
They sat in silence for quite some time, sipping their drinks and listening to the pounding beat of the music. It was a small club and the band wasn’t very good, but they were loud and the crowd seemed to appreciate them. Eventually Trina leaned back, stretching in a most alluring manner and looking Ethan up and down. “So, I want to show you something before the ritual tonight. Something that’ll help you. You game?”
“Sure.”
“Not even going to ask me what it is?”
“I don’t care,” he said with a grin.
Her eyes sparkled; she reached out and ran a hand gently down the side of his face, smiling when he shivered. “You know, Ethan, when I first met you I wasn’t sure about you. But you’re all right.” She cocked her head toward the crowd. “Okay, so I’m going to go dance with a guy. Don’t get jealous—it’s part of what I want to show you. Just shift to magical senses and watch what I do, okay?”
He nodded, and she got up, heading out to the dance floor. It only took her a few seconds to cull a young man from the group, slipping her arms around his neck and leaning in close to him. Ethan fought down a wave of jealousy, but did as he was told, watching them closely with magical senses.
His eyes widened as some sort of energy began to swirl around them, focused around the man’s head. It was almost like it was rising from him, glowing brighter than his dull yellow aura. Everybody had an aura, he knew: the more powerfully magical you were, the brighter it glowed unless you did something to hide it. Stone had showed him this during their lessons early on, and since then he often amused himself looking at them when he was bored. Most normal people’s were fairly dull, only flaring brightly when they were agitated or emotionally charged. Colors varied all over the rainbow: Ethan’s own aura glowed pale yellow, while Stone’s, when he wasn’t hiding it, was a brilliant purple tinged with gold. Trina’s was a strong, clear red.
Right now, as Ethan watched, Trina’s aura seemed to flow out and engulf the man’s head and shoulders. He slumped into her, resting his head on her shoulder as they continued to dance, and she kissed the top of his head. After a few seconds, she gently pushed him away. He swayed on his feet for a moment, and then tottered off into the crowd. Ethan noticed that his dull yellow aura seemed even duller than before, while Trina’s blazed correspondingly brighter. Her smile was electric as she returned to their table and sat down. “So? Did you see it?”
He stared at her. “What did you do?” For a moment, he almost forgot that this woman had the power to completely curdle his hormones with a smile.
“I just borrowed a little of his power. Nothing to worry about. He’ll be tired for a couple of hours, but it’ll come back. It’s just like he did some exercise. He’ll think he drank too much and partied too hard.”
“And you—”
“I’ll have a little extra something to use for the ritual,” she told him. She leaned forward, pulling him in with one hand on the back of his head and kissing him, hard. Her other hand caressed his chest through his T-shirt.
“It’s wonderful, Ethan,” she murmured, pulling back a little. “It really is. You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to, but why not? I promise it doesn’t hurt them, and they don’t even need the power, don’t even know they have it. Why let it go to waste?” She moved in for another kiss, her tongue probing insistently into his mouth.
Trembling, every nerve ending on fire, Ethan fought warring instincts. How could he have been so stupid? Stone had told him about black mages—how they stole power from others to fuel their work. How had he not realized that was what Trina was?
But still...
said a little voice that was having a hard time getting past his rising physical excitement as Trina’s hand on his chest worked its way slowly downward.
Is it really so bad? The guy’s still fine. He’s still dancing, even. She didn’t hurt him.
“Mmm...” he began.
Trina withdrew her tongue just enough so he could speak. “Hmm?”
“You...you took energy from him, but it didn’t hurt him.”
“Nope,” she agreed, her hand reaching for the waistband of his jeans. “He’s just fine. And he’ll feel completely normal in a couple of hours.”
“You’re a black mage.” His voice held no accusation or judgment; he was merely stating a fact. Sort of like “You’re a woman,” or “You look amazing in that outfit.”
“I don’t like those distinctions,” she said, dismissive. Under the table, her hand went lower until she gently grasped him and began a slow massage. “Those are for old people like Stone. Or did he tell you that black mages were
eeeeevil?”
She drew out the word, dripping with sarcasm. “That we eat kittens for breakfast and rape baby seals and want to take over the world?”
Damn, but it was hard to think with her hand probing his lap. He hoped she’d never stop. “No...” he said, sounding muddy and slurred. “He didn’t say that.”
“I’m surprised. What
did
he say?”
Ethan shrugged, but it turned into a squirm as her grip tightened just a little. Oh, God, it felt good. He was glad that the club was barely lit and the table was between them and the rest of the crowd. “He—he said it’s about how it’s powered. That...black mages can do good things, and white mages can do bad things.”
“Really? He’s more open-minded than I thought.” She smiled. “But it doesn’t matter. He’s right, you know. It’s not about morality. It’s all about power, and whether you’re willing to take it. It’s about how far you’re willing to go to get what you want.” She tightened her grip again ever so slightly and grinned as he writhed under her touch. “You like that, Ethan? Does that feel good?”
“Oh, yeah...” he whispered.
She gave him one more stroke and then pulled back; he slumped back into his chair like he couldn’t get up if he wanted to. “I’m glad...” she murmured. “More where that came from, later, after the ritual. I’d just skip it and we could go now, but I promised Miguel.”
“Mmm, no, it’s okay...” His voice was still slurred. “Oh, God, Trina...that felt so good...”
She stroked the side of his face. “You know, Ethan...my friends call me Trin. Now—you want to try my little trick?”
All he could do was nod.