Heart of stone, p.6
Heart of Stone, page 6
“Are you quite sure about that?”
Stone stiffened as a man stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the room. Like the two others, he wore a black robe, though his was trimmed in embroidered gold symbols and his hood was pushed back to reveal his face. “I hadn’t intended to,” he said. “But if you don’t call off your two goons, that might change.”
The man considered. “Let him go, brothers,” he said, nodding toward the big men. “That’s no way to treat a guest.”
The two hooded figures released their holds on Stone’s arms and faded back a step to flank him on either side. Ignoring them, Stone focused his attention on the other man. “I’m surprised you get any recruits around here, if that’s the sort of reception they can expect,” he said. He made a show of shaking out his arms.
“Well, we don’t normally get such…distinguished and formidable personages visiting our humble church,” the man said.
“Matthew Caldwell, I presume?” Stone asked.
The man bowed. “At your service. And you, of course, are Dr. Alastair Stone. I’ve heard about you—it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
Stone frowned. Caldwell knew who he was—that might be a problem, or it might simply be a case of one magical practitioner hearing rumors of another. Black and white mages normally didn’t interact often, but most of them were a secretive lot: it wasn’t at all unusual for even those of the same persuasion to be unaware of each other’s existence unless they had some reason to make contact. He inclined his head slightly, but didn’t return the greeting.
Caldwell stepped forward. “Thank you,” he said to the two hooded figures still hovering behind Stone. “Wait outside, please. I’m sure Dr. Stone means no harm.”
“Sir—” one of the men began.
“You may go,” Caldwell said again, more firmly. When the two had bowed and departed, he faced Stone again with a rueful smile. “They mean well, but sometimes they see threats where none exist.” He paused. “You aren’t a threat, are you, Dr. Stone?”
“That depends,” Stone said. He paused to study Caldwell a moment: the man looked surprisingly unassuming for someone who was supposed to be the charismatic High Priest of an unorthodox church. A bit portly and pale, he had dark hair receding from a high forehead, heavy brows, and a prominent nose; dark eyes burning with intelligence and passion dominated his face.
“Please,” Caldwell said, indicating for Stone to follow. “Come to my office and we’ll talk.” His voice was deep, with a pleasant melodic quality that no doubt served him well when leading his flock. “I admit to being curious about why you’re here. If you’d like to attend one of our services, I can certainly arrange—”
“I want to talk to you about one of your members,” Stone said. He followed Caldwell down a hallway and through another door.
Unlike the décor in the rest of the building, the High Priest’s office looked more like it belonged to an overworked business executive than a mystical church leader. “Please, sit down,” he said, indicating a leather guest chair. He settled himself behind his large wooden desk. “How I can be of service?”
“Tell me about Tabitha Wells,” Stone said.
“Ah. Yes. Ms. Wells. Lovely young woman.”
Stone narrowed his eyes. “I’m not interested in your opinion of her appearance, Caldwell. I suspect you know why I’m here.”
“Actually, I don’t,” Caldwell said, unruffled. “Surely you don’t expect me to reveal the secrets of our church to…outsiders.”
“I don’t give a damn what you get up to in your church,” Stone said. “That’s not my concern. But Ms. Wells is a student of mine, and she’s informed me that she’s started attending. That, also, is none of my concern.”
Caldwell’s brow wrinkled. “Then I’m not sure why—”
Stone leaned forward in his chair, gripping the arms and fixing Caldwell with a hard stare. “Are you using her to draw power during your rituals?”
“Yes.”
Stone blinked. That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. He could easily be wrong about his suspicions, but even if he weren’t, he’d assumed the man would lie about it.
“Does that surprise you, Dr. Stone?”
“It surprises me that you admit it. And it means we might have to revisit that question about whether or not I’m a threat.”
Caldwell sighed, leaning back in his high-backed chair and spreading his arms in a conciliatory gesture. “Dr. Stone—as I said, I’ve heard of you. You have quite the reputation in our circles around this area, whether you know it or not. I know you try to maintain a low profile, but word gets around.”
Stone wondered, as he sometimes did, whether other mages employed Stefan Kolinsky’s information-brokering service. After all, Kolinsky didn’t apologize for the fact that he was a businessman: if he was willing to provide Stone with information about Matthew Caldwell, it was entirely possible that he would likewise provide Caldwell and those like him with information about Stone, if they also agreed to his odd arrangements. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Caldwell said, “that I don’t want you for an enemy. I heard about what happened at Burning Man a while back, and a bit about the unfortunate events in that little town down south a few months ago.” He shrugged. “Despite our being on opposite sides of the practice, I suspect that your experience has made you far more adept at offensive magic than I’ll ever be, or ever want to be.” With an amused smile, he added, “In short, Dr. Stone, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“If you don’t want me as an enemy,” Stone said tightly, “then leave Ms. Wells alone. I’m sure you have any number of other willing contributors. You don’t need to add her to your stable.”
“Ah, but I can’t do that,” Caldwell said. “The process is part of our rituals. She is fully aware of what she’s doing, and I give you my word, she’s completely willing.”
“She knows you’re a mage?” Stone asked, startled. That wasn’t the sort of information one revealed to mundanes lightly, and Tabby Wells hadn’t mentioned anything about it, beyond her faith in Caldwell’s alleged magical potential.
“Not per se. But she’s aware that a certain—energy transfer takes place during the course of the ritual.” Caldwell clearly caught something in Stone’s expression, because he continued quickly: “I won’t give you the details of our church and its practices, Dr. Stone. Not unless you join us, which you’re certainly welcome to do. But I assure you, I have never harmed Ms. Wells nor any of the other members of my congregation, nor would I ever do so. Our relationships are built on trust, and mutually beneficial. I obtain the power I need to continue my work, and they in turn gain a family that loves and accepts them as they are, gives them a refuge from the troubles of the world, and provides for their spiritual, material, and physical needs.”
“You’re sleeping with her too, then, are you?” The whole thing was becoming clearer now. “And not just her, unless I miss my guess. This whole operation is nothing more than a front you’ve put up so you can shag young women and steal their power.”
Caldwell leaned forward in his chair, putting his hands flat on his desk. For the first time, his smile faded and his expression grew serious. “Dr. Stone. First of all, what you’re saying isn’t true. There is far more to the Rising Dawn than mere pleasures of the flesh—and by that, I mean not only those of the more…carnal variety, but also good food and drink, stimulating discourse, and the appreciation of fine material things.”
Stone sighed. “Save it, Caldwell. You’re not the first of your kind I’ve encountered, and I doubt you’ll be the last. This doesn’t have to escalate. I’m certain that you have enough willing…congregation members to fulfill whatever desires your kinky little heart can manage to come up with. You don’t need Ms. Wells.”
“Of course I don’t need her,” Caldwell said, his features settling back into neutrality. “But that isn’t the point.”
Stone waited.
“The point, Dr. Stone, is that you can threaten me if you like. As I said, if it came to a magical battle, I’m sure you’d wipe up the floor with me—although you might find that we’re a bit better defended here than you’d think. But what would it gain you? I thought you were a man of intellect, not one of force.”
Stone had his doubts about Caldwell’s assessment of his own abilities: that much power siphoned regularly from numerous contributors would render the man quite potent, even if he had no experience in magical combat. “I don’t fancy seeing my students taken advantage of.”
“Ah, but there’s the disconnect. What makes you think I am taking advantage of her?” Before Stone could respond, he held up a hand. “Please—let me finish. Ms. Wells is an intelligent young woman. She’s well past the age of consent. I haven’t deceived her in any way regarding the nature of our rituals—nor have I deceived any of the other members of my inner circle.”
“Inner circle,” Stone said. “The ones you sleep with, or the ones you take power from?”
“Both,” Caldwell said with undisguised frankness. “All of them know what to expect, and they’re all willing participants. If you were to ask Ms. Wells, she would tell you the same thing.” Again, he frowned. “In short, Dr. Stone, every person involved in our rituals is a legal adult, mentally capable, free of coercion, and fully able to make his or her own decisions about what he or she chooses to participate in. What right do you have to interfere with that?”
And there it was. Stone drew breath to respond, then let it out again without speaking.
Because damn it, the man was right.
He didn’t want to admit it—hated to admit it, in fact. But the fact remained: assuming Caldwell was telling the truth, and that would be easy enough to discern with a quick and surreptitious look at Tabby Wells’s aura, there wasn’t a bloody thing Stone could—or should—do about it. She had every right to conduct her affairs in any way she saw fit, regardless of his approval. If she wanted to hand over a small and renewable portion of her life energy to this man in exchange for…whatever it was he claimed to give her, that was that. And if she chose to sleep with Caldwell—that was even less his business than their magical activities.
Caldwell favored him with a gentle smile that, to his credit, didn’t appear condescending. “You see, don’t you? I thought you would. You’re a reasonable man.”
Stone stood, expressionless. He kept his voice even. “Yes, Mr. Caldwell. I see. And you are right. This isn’t my concern.” He turned as if to go, but then paused and turned back. “But I’ll tell you this, and I suggest you don’t forget it: if it reaches me that Ms. Wells or any of your other…congregants have come to harm due to your activities, you will see me again.”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” Caldwell said, still showing no reaction. He rose and moved to open the door. “In fact, I’d expect it. Have a good evening, Dr. Stone. I hope you find your peace.”
Chapter Fourteen
Two weeks passed. Stone heard nothing more from Tabitha Wells’s father, nor anything directly from Tabby herself. She attended classes regularly, completed her assignments, and seemed normal in every way. The only indications Stone had that anything was unusual were that she relocated her usual seat closer to the middle of the hall, and she sometimes appeared tired early in the week. That could easily be explained by the normal weekend activities of a college student.
He’d taken the opportunity the day after he’d visited Matthew Caldwell to carefully examine Tabby’s aura with magical sight while the class was busy watching a video presentation. What he saw was consistent with someone who’d had some of her power siphoned off by a black-magic practitioner, but other than that, it was clear, untroubled, and whole. Stone had seen enough such auras in his career to recognize someone who had contributed willingly. He decided not to ask her anything else about her new church, thinking that she—quite justifiably—might resent his intrusion into her personal life. Caldwell must not have said anything to her about Stone’s visit either; no doubt she’d have given him an earful about it if he had.
He didn’t have a lot of time to think about what was doing on with Tabby Wells, though—his mind, when not focused on his work, was most often occupied with Deirdre Lanier.
The two of them had spent every available evening together, whenever she didn’t have to work late in San Francisco or he didn’t have late classes or meetings. When they weren’t together, Stone found himself missing her with an intensity that occasionally disturbed him.
He’d never felt this way about a woman before—even Imogen, all those years ago in England, hadn’t affected him like Deirdre did. Every time he was with her, everything about her—her beauty, her wit, her sly sense of humor, her talents in the bedroom, the way she focused on him as if he were the most important thing in the world—contributed to a feeling of pleasure and satisfaction he used to wonder if he’d ever be capable of.
Still, his near-lifelong magical instincts didn’t desert him: he continued to periodically check her aura to look for any kind of subterfuge, usually while she was drifting off to sleep next to him. He felt traitorous for doing it, as if he were betraying the obvious feelings she had for him. But he still did it, and he never found anything but affection, contentment, and a remarkably consistent passion.
Perhaps this was the real deal, and he’d allowed himself to become cynical for so long that he couldn’t recognize it.
Stone didn’t look forward to the department’s upcoming shindig-slash-schmoozefest; ostensibly, it was a festive party for the faculty and their spouses or significant others to get together, drink too much, and take the edge off the middle of winter, but in reality it was an excuse to invite high-profile (read: loaded) benefactors and try to entice them to open their pocketbooks by plying them with small talk, free-flowing top-shelf liquor, and all manner of soft-sell sales pitches regarding the department’s plans for the upcoming year.
Stone would have stayed home—he threatened to every time—but his department head always hinted none too subtly that doing so would be a politically unwise move. He knew why: they considered him a good draw. He was relatively young, attractive, looked good in a tux, and the rich ladies loved his accent. Despite his pathological dislike of small talk, he somehow managed each time to be witty and charming enough to convince the powers that be that he was responsible for some small extra measure of donations. He’d gotten it down to a science in the last couple of years: show up with his current girlfriend, turn on the charm for an hour, score a couple of primo drinks and chat up two or three old women, then take his leave before anyone figured out he was gone.
“So,” he said one evening as he and Deirdre lounged in bed following their latest lovemaking session, “I’ve got to go to this party thing next Friday. Would you like to come with me?”
“You make it sound so appealing,” she teased. She lay snuggled against him, her head on his chest.
“Well, to be honest it’s normally a bit of a chore—it’s a work thing. But if you’ll accompany me, I think this one could be much more pleasant than usual.”
He’d debated whether to ask her—of course he wanted her company, and certainly had no plans to ask anyone else, but bringing her to a University function essentially guaranteed that someone would mention his actual field of study within her earshot. He hadn’t exactly lied to her about it, but he’d also made it a point not to bring up his work in anything but the most general way so as not to invite too many questions. The problem was, he couldn’t show up at the party without a date (the one year he’d done that, he’d had to fend off the tipsy advances of a seventy-year-old widow who’d insisted her spirit guide had informed her he was her soulmate, and he should come back to her house to see her art collection). That meant Deirdre was elected.
Maybe she’d be busy that night, and he could play escort to Edwina Mortenson or something. That would be truly strange and probably unpleasant for both of them, but at least Edwina knew the score and would probably ditch him as soon as they arrived. And more importantly, he wouldn’t have to reveal anything to Deirdre.
Ah, well. It had to happen eventually, if they remained together. He had to accept that her finding out might be the beginning of the end, the inevitable tipping point where every one of his previous girlfriends had twigged to the stranger corners of his life and begun the subtle disengagement that eventually led to their becoming his ex-girlfriends. Sometimes it was quick—one time it happened in a single night—and sometimes it took a few weeks, but so far his track record ran at a solid one hundred percent. He had no idea if Deirdre Lanier would be the one to break the streak, but he wasn’t in a hurry to find out. Finally, it was the thought of showing up without her that made him bring it up at last.
“Might be fun,” she agreed. “And if not…” She stroked his chest. “We can always sneak out and find something more fun to do, right?”
There was that, too. “I like the way you think.”
Chapter Fifteen
In the end, and after much debating back and forth with himself, he decided to head off the inevitable. “Listen,” he said to her as they sat in the car parked along a side street a block down from the Rosicrucian Egyptian Museum in San Jose, where the party was being held. “There’s something I want to tell you before we go in. You’ll likely find out before the night’s over, and I’d rather you heard it from me than from someone else.”
“Oh?” She turned in her seat to face him.
She wore a short, slinky black dress that showed off the curves of her trim, athletic body to stunning advantage, and Stone was finding it difficult to concentrate. “I…haven’t been quite truthful with you about my occupation.”
