Heart of stone, p.15
Heart of Stone, page 15
He sat down on the couch with the phone, intending to return Deirdre’s call. As soon as he got off his feet, though, exhaustion overwhelmed him. He knew if he called her she would want to come over—a thought that at any other time would fill him with anticipation. But if she did come over and saw him like this, she’d insist on taking care of him, and he didn’t want that.
He also knew that, given her usual effect on him, he’d be tempted toward more pleasurable activities. Much as he hated to admit it, though, he wasn’t sure his body wouldn’t betray him—which he also didn’t want. I’ll call her tomorrow, he thought, swinging his legs around so he was lying on the couch. First thing.
Before he got past that thought, he was asleep.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The next day he went back to work. Probably not one of his wisest ideas, but after a full night’s sleep (he found two more messages from Deirdre in the morning, but he’d slept so deeply he hadn’t even heard the phone ringing), a hot shower, and a small handful of ibuprofen, he felt human enough to give the day a try. He still didn’t shave: Deirdre had said she liked the look, and besides, the stubble covered up some of the bruises on his jaw.
He only had a couple of classes; he decided if he felt well enough after those and his office hour, he’d head back to England and see if he could make more headway on the grimoire translation. Before he left, he called Deirdre and left his own message, apologizing for missing her last night and asking her to call him at his office if she wanted to see him tonight.
He made it through the two classes and lunch, and thought he did a reasonably good job of hiding most of the injuries and stiffness. Some of the students gave him odd looks, but no one was brave enough to approach him. He stayed out of Mortenson and Hubbard’s way, and by the time he slumped into his chair in his office at 3:00, he was feeling like he might be able to pull this off. He was about to try calling Deirdre when a figure appeared in his doorway. He looked up to see Tabby Wells waiting.
“Ms. Wells,” he said.
“Hi, Dr. Stone. Can I come in?”
“Of course.” He waved her toward a chair.
She sat down and pulled her backpack into her lap. “I decided to do that extra-credit assignment,” she said. She removed a three-ring binder and extracted a thin sheaf of printed sheets, stapled together. “I can’t tell you everything—exactly the way the rituals go is kind of a secret—but I hope it’s enough to get my grade up.” She pushed it across the desk at him.
“Thank you,” he said. He picked it up and skimmed the first page, then slid it off to the side of his desk. “I’ll take a look and let you know in a day or two.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She paused a moment, as if unsure of what she wanted to say next. “Uh—Dr. Stone?”
“Yes?”
“I saw that you were out yesterday. Dr. Mortenson took over your class, and she said you were sick.”
He frowned. “Nothing to worry about, Ms. Wells.” Why was she asking him about that?
“Yeah,” she said. “But…well…don’t be offended, but you haven’t been looking too well for a while now. Tired, you know?” She rummaged in her backpack and pulled out a small brown bottle, about the same size as one that would hold cough syrup. It had no label, and a wax-wrapped cap held its contents in. “I don’t know if you’re interested, but I thought you might be able to use this.”
His frown deepened. Now she was offering him some kind of medication? “Ms. Wells, I don’t know what that is, but it’s probably not wise for you to—”
“I got it from Matthew,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Remember that herbal pick-me-up I was telling you about before? I told him how tired you were looking, and asked him to give me some for you. I use it sometimes myself when I need to pull all-nighters—we all do. It’s amazing—like one of those energy drinks, but better.”
“Ms. Wells—” He looked at it, then at her.
“There’s nothing illegal in it,” she said quickly. “It’s not drugs. Come on—I’m not stupid enough to give drugs to one of my professors. You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to. I just thought it might help you out. If you decide to use it, just use a capful at a time. And not too often.” She zipped up her pack and got up. “Anyway, I hope the paper was what you were looking for. Thanks, Dr. Stone.”
And then she was gone, leaving Stone sitting at his desk staring at the bottle and the stapled papers she’d left behind. He glanced up to make sure no one else was coming to see him, then picked the bottle up. It was about three-quarters full of some syrupy liquid—maybe ten doses, if each was a capful.
So this came from Caldwell, did it?
I wonder…
He shifted to magical sight, and was rewarded by the sight of a faint glow around the bottle. Magic, then. Interesting. Was Caldwell an alchemist? That kind of magic was rare—the only other mage Stone knew who practiced it at all was Madame Huan, who specialized in subtle concoctions like concentration enhancers. But what was this one’s true purpose?
He dug the telephone book from his bottom drawer and riffled through it, sure he’d find nothing, but no, there it was: a tiny listing in the business white pages for the Church of the Rising Dawn in San Jose. He punched in the number, and after having to deal with two different underlings, got Matthew Caldwell himself on the line. “Caldwell. Alastair Stone.”
“Dr. Stone. What a pleasure. What can I do for you?”
“I want to know about your little…gift.”
“Ah, yes. The elixir. Ms. Wells mentioned that you’d been looking under the weather lately, and she thought you might find it useful. I was happy to give her a bottle for you.”
“You’re an alchemist.”
“I dabble at it a bit,” he admitted. “The elixir’s quite harmless, I assure you. I use it myself, to help me stay awake when I have…projects.”
“And you’re giving this to your—congregants. Mundanes. To help them stay awake.”
“Yes, of course.” There was a pause. “I thought we covered this ground during your last visit, Dr. Stone. I’m not doing anything wrong—not by mundane laws, and certainly not by magical guidelines. My little concoction doesn’t contain anything illegal or addictive.”
“What does it contain, then?” Stone asked. He held up the bottle again, swirling it.
“Proprietary recipe. But I’m sure if you give it a moment’s thought, you’ll have no trouble figuring out the primary ingredient.”
Stone narrowed his eyes. Could Caldwell be saying what he thought he was saying? “You’re…infusing the elixir with the energy you take from your donors.” So that was where all that extra energy was going. It made a strange sort of sense.
“I’ll neither confirm nor deny that. But in any case, you have my word, Dr. Stone: it’s quite safe, as long as you don’t abuse it.”
Stone stared at the little bottle in disgust. Even though using energy drawn from others as an ingredient in an alchemical mixture wasn’t technically the same as drawing off that energy to power one’s own magical efforts, he still found the concept distasteful on principle. He sighed. “I’m still keeping tabs on you, Caldwell. Remember what I said about Ms. Wells.”
“Ms. Wells is fine and happy, as I’m sure you know. She’s been attending your classes, has she not?”
“She has.”
“And she doesn’t look distressed in any way?”
“No more than any other student,” he said reluctantly.
“Well, then. It sounds like I have nothing to worry about. Have a good day, Dr. Stone. The elixir is a gift—use it or not as you wish. I won’t be offended.”
After he hung up the phone, Stone leaned back in his chair and let his breath out. He shoved Tabby’s paper into his briefcase and swept the elixir bottle into his top drawer, closing it with rather more force than necessary. He pulled on his coat and headed out.
He got as far as the door before he paused. After a moment, he whirled back around, yanked the drawer open, and dropped the bottle into his pocket. Then he left the office.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“You look better tonight,” Deirdre said.
She sat across from him at a trendy little French place in Menlo Park. The dancing candle flame in the middle of the table caught the sparkle in her blue eyes.
“Told you it wasn’t as bad as it looked,” he said. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off her, but forced himself to scan the restaurant every few minutes, still convinced that Polo Shirt and Leather Jacket lurked nearby and planned to jump them as soon as his vigilance faltered. “You haven’t seen any sign of anyone suspicious, have you?”
When he’d picked Deirdre up at her place, he’d paused to glance around with magical sight, but saw no lingering traces of potential trouble. He wished he could put a ward around her building, but wards took a lot of time and energy, and he doubted the people in the area would ignore him walking around the place for several hours, muttering to himself and tracing symbols in the air.
She shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.” She patted her bag on the chair next to her. “If they try to bother me, though, I’m prepared.”
Stone wondered privately if she truly were: he had little experience with guns himself, but Jason had told him once that shooting a human being, even one who was trying to hurt you, wasn’t as easy as they made it look in the movies. “I’m surprised they haven’t come after you. Very relieved, but surprised. Obviously they know about you, and think you might know where to find the book.”
She shrugged. “I’m not going to worry too much about it unless I see them. Maybe they gave up.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “Are you sure you won’t just give it back to me and let me get rid of it? It still upsets me that someone I care about got hurt over something so stupid.”
“No, not yet. I’m getting somewhere with it. And it’s not stupid—it’s quite old, and probably very valuable. That’s likely why they want it—they’re working for some rich collector who wants to stay anonymous.”
“If that’s true, then why did they attack you? Why not just make an offer for it? It’s not like the thing means anything to me, really. I’d probably have just sold it to them.”
“Who knows? It just disturbs me to think they still might try to get it from you by force.”
“You said you’re getting somewhere with it. What does that mean? Are you telling me you can read that gibberish?”
“Yes—or rather, I’m getting close. It’s an ancient language, and not one that’s widely known.”
“Interesting…” she said. She took a sip of her wine. “Can you tell what the point of the book is yet? Is it a storybook? Some kind of religious thing?”
“Not…exactly.” He paused a moment, thinking about how much he wanted to tell her. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to tell her a bit of the truth, given that she’d never believe him anyway. “I think it’s a kind of…spell book. A lot of people in those days fancied themselves wizards, and a lot of other people believed them.”
“Wizards? You mean like Merlin or Gandalf or something?”
“Sort of, yes. Quite a lot of monarchs and aristocrats had their court magicians and diviners—you know, reading cow entrails and casting horoscopes and putting curses on people they didn’t like.”
“And this tells how to do things like that?” She tilted her head. “How strange.”
“Strange and rather fascinating,” he said. “That sort of thing is right up my alley—thug attacks notwithstanding, of course.”
“Well, don’t forget, you promised to tell me about what you found. And now I’m even more curious.”
“I’ll let you know when I get far enough to tell you something interesting. I’ve been spending a fair bit of my free time on it. When you’re not available, of course. I haven’t forgotten the other promise as well.”
She nodded. “You really do look a lot better,” she said, eyeing him across the table. “What’s your secret?”
“I told you it looked a lot worse than it was. I just needed good night’s sleep. Sorry I didn’t answer your calls last night.”
“I figured you were probably asleep. So…” she said with a sly grin. “Are you feeling up to some…dessert?”
“You are insatiable, aren’t you?” he asked, chuckling.
“Are you complaining?”
“What kind of fool do you think I am?”
Her grin grew wider. “I’ll go easy on you. At first. Need to build your strength back up again. I notice you kept the stubble, by the way.”
“You said you liked it.”
“Oh, yes. Very sexy. In fact, I kind of want to throw you over this table and ravish you right now.”
“I think they have a surcharge for that.”
“Worth every penny.”
“No doubt. But in any case, I think I owe you a good ravishing.”
She looked delighted. “Then consider me officially collecting.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
On the drive to Deirdre’s place, Stone let his mind drift back over the afternoon, and took stock of his current condition. He’d driven down to Sunnyvale after work and managed to slip past Marta while she was busy with customers. Aubrey was nowhere to be found, which left him two undisturbed hours to continue his studies before he’d have to return. The sleep last night had helped, but he still felt like he was getting a fever, his body ached, and as he sat at his old table surrounded by reference books and papers, he began to doubt he’d be able to concentrate sufficiently to get anywhere.
Almost without thought, he slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out the bottle of elixir. He held it up and stared at it again, watching the thick liquid move back and forth against the brown glass.
Doing what he contemplated would be foolish.
He knew very little about Matthew Caldwell, and trusted him less.
The man was using energy he’d drawn from mundane donors to infuse an alchemical mixture. Black magic, no two ways about it. Just because it wouldn’t affect Stone the same way as if he used black magic himself, it didn’t mean it was a good idea to take chances.
Still, Kolinsky had said the man was harmless. And Kolinsky had never been anything but upfront with him.
Maybe Caldwell—or more likely, Tabitha Wells, who had no idea what she was doing—really was just trying to help him. To bring one of her favorite professors something to make him feel better when he was obviously tired and in pain. She’d said she used the stuff herself, and he’d seen nothing in her appearance or her aura to indicate it had harmed her in any way.
The fact was, he needed to finish translating the grimoire, and he had to do it fast. He knew of no way to trace who was trying to get hold of it—who had almost certainly hired Polo Shirt and Leather Jacket to retrieve it—without knowing what secrets it held.
If that meant taking a mild risk in order to keep Deirdre safe, he was willing.
He broke the wax seal on the bottle and unscrewed the cap.
The aroma that wafted upward was strange, but not unpleasant: sweet, with overtones of a sharper tang. He poured a capful; outside the brown bottle, the liquid was a deep purple hue.
He set the bottle and the cap down on the table and looked at both with magical sight. The faint glow he’d spotted in his office was stronger now, especially around the capful. Definitely potent magical stuff.
In the end, it was thoughts of Deirdre that made up his mind. He’d try it once and see how it went. Caldwell and Tabby Wells were probably overselling the stuff anyway, but if it took his headache and some of the pain away so he could concentrate, it would be worth it. He picked up the cap and swallowed the mixture.
It went down sharp and cold, with a bite that burned all the way down. Almost instantly, his mind seemed to sharpen, the fever-fog that had been settled over it for the last couple days burning off like early-morning haze. Likewise, the low-grade exhaustion gave way to a crisp clarity of thought, a level of focus he’d almost forgotten he was capable of. The pain didn’t go away, but it was as if it didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t have to think about it—he had more important things to think about, and now he could get to them without the failings of his body getting in his way.
He wondered how long it worked, and decided since he didn’t know, he’d better get to it. He spread out his notes and reference books, opened the grimoire to the page where he’d left off last time, and began to read.
By the time he returned to A Passage to India a couple hours later and once again sneaked out the back door, he’d made more progress on his translations than he had in any of his past sessions. He’d added almost five new pages to the sheaf of handwritten notes he’d left on the table. Even if he didn’t use any more of Caldwell’s concoction, that kind of headway wasn’t something he would turn down.
Now, nearly five hours later as he pulled up to Deirdre’s gate and punched in the code, the feeling of energy and vitality had barely faded. The jury was still out on what he’d feel like when the elixir finally wore off, but if he was lucky, he could keep it going long enough for a pleasant evening with Deirdre and then sleep off the aftereffects and be back to normal (or at least his current, somewhat diminished version of “normal”) in the morning.
“What are you thinking about?” Deirdre asked as she got out of the car. “You’re smiling.”
“You,” he said.
“Dessert?”
