Heart of stone, p.17
Heart of Stone, page 17
“I’d love to go,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “If I head home soon, I can change and pick you up at six. We can go somewhere for dinner beforehand. You choose.”
“Are you sure you’re not too tired? I hope you got some sleep this weekend.”
“I did,” he said. He felt reasonably good today—as he’d told Marta, he’d gone straight home the previous night and fallen into bed. Though a couple times today he’d been tempted to take just one more dose of Caldwell’s elixir, he’d resisted the temptation. Both Caldwell and Tabby had said not to overdo it, and if he did take any more, he wanted to save it for the last push to finish up the translations. “Have you been home since you got back?”
“I stopped by this morning,” she said. “No sign of anything wrong. I think I must have just been seeing things on Friday night.”
“Probably,” he agreed, though he wasn’t so sure. “Good to hear, anyway.”
She stood, “I should be going—I need to do a couple of things before I go home. See you at six?”
He got up too, and held her coat for her. “Six it is.” He pulled her close to him and kissed her. She responded with eager hunger, leaning into him and giving as good as she got. Once again, he was overwhelmed with longing for her—the feeling that he wanted nothing more than to take her right here in his office, across his desk. From the way her strong, grasping fingers dug into the back of his shirt, he was sure she felt the same way.
A sound outside the door startled him, and it was only then that he remembered he hadn’t closed it. He almost jerked back, guilty as a schoolboy caught necking in a dark corner, but instead he simply stepped backward and glanced at the doorway, just in time to spot the retreating back of a female student walking quickly back down the hall. Even from behind, he recognized the backpack.
Tabitha Wells.
“Ms. Wells?” he called.
She took another step, then came to an abrupt stop and turned back around. “I’m—sorry, Dr. Stone. I didn’t mean to…interrupt you.”
“No—it’s fine. Please come back. Did you need something?”
“I should go,” Deirdre said.
“Just a moment—I’ll take care of this.” He stepped outside the office.
Tabby hesitated in the hallway. “Really—I can come back later.” Her gaze darted past Stone to the open door to his office, and clouded for a moment.
“No need. What can I do for you?”
She paused. “Nothing, really. I…uh…was just wondering if you’d gotten a chance to take a look at my extra-credit paper.”
Damn. He hadn’t even thought about the paper—in fact, he’d forgotten he’d put it in his briefcase. “I have not. I apologize—been a bit…busy. I’ll look at it and let you know by the end of this week. Fair enough?”
“Sure,” she said. She glanced sideways again, then hitched up her backpack on her shoulder. “Thanks, Dr. Stone. Sorry for…uh…”
“Not a problem. Have a good evening, Ms. Wells.”
She looked like she was about to say “You too,” but didn’t. Instead, she nodded, turned on her heels, and hurried off.
When Stone turned back around, Deirdre was lounging in the doorway, watching her go. “Who was that?” She had an odd, impassive expression.
“One of my Occult in America students. I owe her a grade on an extra-credit assignment I gave her a few days ago.”
She nodded. “She’s got a thing for you. Did you know that?”
He looked at her, startled. “What?”
She shrugged, and smiled. “Men are funny—you either see things that aren’t there, or you miss the blindingly obvious. Oh, yes, she’s got it bad for you.”
He considered, remembering the visit from Tabitha’s father a few weeks ago. “Someone else told me that too. I suppose you’re right—I don’t see it. And I assure you, even if it’s true, it’s certainly not mutual. You can’t possibly be concerned about that, can you?”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, don’t worry. I’m a bit more secure than that.”
“Well, good. Because I’d be the biggest idiot in the world if I even looked at anyone else while I’ve got you.”
She laughed again. “You can look. Just don’t touch.” She kissed him again, quick but passionate, then tapped a playful finger on his nose. “See you at six.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Stone’s musical tastes ran more toward rock concerts than classical symphonies, but he’d have cheerfully attended anything from a country-music festival to a polka extravaganza if Deirdre had asked him to.
“Have I told you lately that you’re beautiful?” he asked when he spotted her waiting for him in the lobby. She wore a short, form-fitting black dress in her usual style that combined old-world class with modern-day sensuality, stiletto heels that made her stand almost as tall as Stone, and a glittering necklace that, if it wasn’t made of genuine diamonds, was the best imitation Stone had ever seen. She held her long, sweeping coat over one arm along with a small clutch bag.
She smiled. The rain still fell hard outside, and he’d dropped her off before heading off to park the car. “Did you have to park far away?”
“Couple of blocks,” he said, shaking out his umbrella. He’d learned shortly after he’d moved to California that it didn’t rain that often here, and when it did, the vast majority of the motorists forgot how to drive. Tonight was no different, which meant that by the time they arrived, all the nearby parking lots were already full. He’d finally found space in a small lot on a tiny side street.
She looked rueful. “Sorry about that. I forgot about what the rain would do to traffic.”
“No trouble,” he said, and kissed her quickly. “Come on—let’s check our coats and find our seats.”
For the next hour and a half, Stone mostly split his time between sidelong glances at Deirdre and letting his mind chew over the grimoire translations. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the music: the concert featured the works of several of the more energetic Russian composers, and the pounding beat of some of the pieces affected him the same way many of his favorite rock pieces did. But between the warm closeness of Deirdre’s leg against his and of their arms resting next to each other on the armrest, and the fact that his brain refused to let him completely forget a problem when he was in the middle of it, he missed large portions of the program.
At the intermission, when everyone filed out to the lobby to stretch their legs and refresh themselves at the bar, she took his hand and squeezed it. “You’ve been looking like you’re off in another world,” she said teasingly. “Not a classical fan?”
“Oh, I am,” he said. “You’re just—distracting.”
“Distracting.” She moved a little closer to him, and took a sip of her drink.
“Very…distracting. That dress is…” He tugged at his tie. “…Distracting,” he finished.
She chuckled. “Then it’s doing its job.”
“It is. Admirably. But I have to admit, I’ve also been thinking about your book.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I’m getting close. I made a lot of headway this weekend. I’ve got almost all of it translated now. Just a few more bits and I’ll be done.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said, brightening. “I can’t wait to hear about it. Can you tell me anything now?”
“Not just yet. Soon. Once I’ve got it all sorted out.” He paused; it was almost time to return to their seats. “Deirdre…”
“Yes?”
“Would you consider selling it to me?”
She looked surprised. “The book?”
He nodded. “As I mentioned before, it’s just the sort of thing I find fascinating, and it would make quite an addition to my library. I hope you’ll consider it. I’ll offer you a fair price, of course.”
She took his hands, then leaned closer to him and gently kissed his forehead. “Alastair…you’ve spoiled my surprise. I was planning to give it to you.”
He stared at her. “You…were?”
“Of course I was. I saw the look in your eyes when I showed it to you. And then when you got hurt because of it…if you want it, it’s yours. On one condition,” she added.
“Name it.”
“You have to promise me that you’ll tell me what’s in it. Even if it’s something horrible. I’m dying of curiosity. Will you do that?”
He considered. He could lie to her—she’d never know the difference. That was what he’d intended to do all along. But—
“All right,” he said. “I promise. I’ll tell you. I warn you, though: it is fairly horrible.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “I used to love horror stories when I was a kid. Come on, though—we’d better go back before they close the doors.”
For the second half of the concert, Stone had even more trouble concentrating on the music. Now, in addition to Deirdre’s tantalizing closeness, the translations, and his growing fatigue, he had his astonishment that Deirdre had decided to simply give him the grimoire. He’d never expected that. She’d never shown any indication that she was motivated by money, and seemed to be sufficiently well-off that she didn’t have to worry about it, but he’d been indulging in a bit of wishful thinking when he’d told her he’d make her a fair offer for the book. Even if he cashed in all his investments and raided his various bank accounts both here and in England, he wouldn’t come close to gathering what the book was worth. Admittedly, the market for such a thing was vanishingly small, and finding a buyer willing to pay that kind of money would be difficult, but if she did, such an item could easily fetch an exorbitant sum.
Part of him—the part that loved her, the part that wanted to be honest with her—insisted that he reveal the whole story about its worth before allowing her to give it to him. But this thing wasn’t just some work of art, some first-edition bit of literature that belonged in a museum. When you got right down to it, the grimoire, in the wrong hands, was a powerful weapon. Stone had an obligation to keep that weapon out of those wrong hands—hands such as those of whoever was pulling Polo Shirt’s and Leather Jacket’s strings—even if he had to deceive Deirdre to do so.
He hadn’t reached any definitive conclusions by the time the hall rang with the thundering final chords of the last piece, followed by loud and enthusiastic applause from the audience. Deirdre squeezed Stone’s hand as around them, people began to rise from their seats. “That was wonderful.”
“It was,” he agreed, even though he’d barely heard half of it.
They joined the exiting crowd and let it sweep them out to the lobby. Stone retrieved their coats and his umbrella and settled Deirdre’s coat over her shoulders. Outside, the rain still fell, cold and steady. “Wait here,” he told her. “Stay warm. I’ll go get the car—watch for me just out front.”
He set off at a brisk pace, wishing he could have gotten away with wearing his Doc Martens with his suit. His thin leather dress shoes sloshed through the frequent puddles dotting the sidewalks, and already his feet were soaked. Once more, he let the chattering crowds carry him along, but it wasn’t too long before people began to break off, in pairs or small groups, and head toward their cars parked in the nearer lots. By the time he’d reached the end of the first long block, he was walking alone. Cars still drove by, though, their headlights making crazy multicolored patterns in the oily puddles on the streets. Stone remained vigilant, as always, but wasn’t terribly concerned.
It wasn’t far now, though: just another half-block up this street, then a left and another block or so to the lot. He increased his pace again, not wanting to keep Deirdre waiting any longer than he had to.
This street was narrower, choked on both side with parked cars. The intermittent streetlights cast eerie yellow glows over the cars and the street, which was lined with small blue-collar businesses like auto-repair shops and plumbing contractors. All of them were closed at this time of night.
The lot was just ahead now. Stone slowed his pace a bit, feeling suddenly exposed. He switched to magical sight, doing a quick sweep for auras, but the only one he saw was the tiny glow of some small animal—a cat or a large rat, maybe—darting across the street.
Don’t be stupid, he thought. They’re not here. And you can handle anyone else.
As he approached the lot, which was on the same side of the street he was, he noticed two things right away: the first was that it was nearly empty now. It was far enough away from the symphony venue that most likely whatever event the people in the other cars here had attended had finished up well prior to the concert.
The second was that most of the lights were out.
Perhaps he was mistaken—he couldn’t remember how well lit the lot had been before, because when he’d arrived, other cars had been driving in and out, illuminating the area with their headlights. Now, only a lone streetlamp on the far side of the lot provided any light. In it, Stone could pick out only a half-dozen cars, including his own BMW, scattered throughout the open space.
He glanced around again, doing another scan for auras. When he still saw none, he called up a shield around him and headed toward his car. A bit of shame gripped him—admitting fear wasn’t something he did easily—but in a moment, he’d be back inside his car. He could go pick up Deirdre and soon he’d forget about the whole thing.
“Smarter this time, I see,” said a drawling, familiar voice from behind one of the cars closest to the BMW.
Chapter Forty
“You think that pussy bubble of yours can stop us?” came a second voice from behind the BMW itself.
Stone froze as the two of them rose up: Polo Shirt, now wearing a down jacket, jeans, and a backward-facing baseball cap, and Leather Jacket, dressed similarly as before except for the addition of a black knit stocking cap, swaggered around the cars and faced him, maybe twenty feet away. Both were smiling, their teeth flashing white and predatory in the dim light.
“You won’t find me such an easy target this time,” Stone said, but his heart pounded and doubt nudged at a small corner of his mind: could they get past his shield? They seemed immune to normal magic, but did that mean magical shields would be useless as barriers against them? He lowered his umbrella but held on to it; if they came after him and the shield didn’t stop them, it was substantial and might be useful as a weapon.
“We’ll see about that,” Polo Shirt said. He lounged against the side of the BMW and crossed his arms over his chest. “We got time to wait.”
“You can’t hold that thing forever. Magic takes energy, and you ain’t got much of that right now.” Leather Jacket let out a nasty laugh. “How you feelin’, Stone? Still fucked up? That’s a nice suit, but it ain’t hidin’ anything. You walkin’ like an old man.”
Stone examined his options. They were right: he couldn’t keep the shield up indefinitely. Maybe five or ten minutes straight, assuming they didn’t do anything to stress it, like attacking him. Both of them stood between him and the BMW, so there was no way he could make a break for the car.
He could try throwing something at them, but he saw nothing to throw, except cars—and those were a bit out of his power range at present—or his umbrella, if it came down to that. He might be able to skewer one of them—but then what about the other one?
He could levitate himself away, but he wasn’t certain that in his current shape he could keep the shield up at the same time, and in any case, levitation wasn’t flight. As fast as they moved, he might not be able to get far enough away from them before they could grab him.
The only other option he saw was to try using Harrison’s magic again. It had hurt them, sure, but clearly it hadn’t taken them out. And when you added the fact that he hadn’t worked out yet how to control it without collapsing and burning out his magic for an indefinite period, that seemed a poor choice as well.
“So,” Polo Shirt said. “Let’s talk while we wait for your bubble to pop. Where’s the book?”
“Somewhere you’ll never find it,” Stone said.
“That’s too bad,” Leather Jacket said. He, too, leaned against the BMW, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “We were hoping our little…demonstration convinced you we’re not fuckin’ around.”
“Hate to have to do it again,” Polo Shirt said. “’Cause if we do…well…you never know what we might do to you next time. We were bein’ careful before. Maximum pain, but no real damage. We’re good at that. We wanted you to be able to lead us to the book.”
“Won’t be careful this time, though,” Leather Jacket said with a leer. “You’ll really be our bitch this time.” He made a suggestive motion with his hips.
Stone forced the memories of the beating away—or tried to. He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? That’s what you’ve got?”
Polo Shirt shrugged. “Hey, it’s not our thing, but we do what we gotta do, you know? We’d much rather plow that hot chick of yours. Where is she, by the way? She waitin’ for you? Maybe we should go find her.”
“Why?” Stone asked. “The book isn’t at her place. You know that—you’ve already checked, haven’t you?”
The two of them looked at each other for a moment, and Stone caught an odd look passing between them. Was it confusion? “Yeah, we checked,” Polo Shirt said quickly. “Didn’t expect to find it, though—you’d have to be pretty fuckin’ stupid to let somebody with no magic keep hold of it.”
“You’d want to study the fuck out of it,” Leather Jacket said. “Just like our boss. Fuckin’ mages are all alike.”
“Who is your boss?” Stone asked. He had to think of a way out of this situation fast, but if they were in the mood to talk instead of coming after him, maybe he could get some questions answered.
Polo Shirt snorted and didn’t reply. Instead, he pushed himself off the BMW and moved closer to Stone, casually circling the barrier around him. He poked a finger out, but stopped short of touching it. “Hmm…can we get through it or not? You don’t know, do you?” Quick as a striking snake, he lashed out with a fist and punched it, right at the level of Stone’s face.
