Stone and a Hard Place (9 page)

After several minutes, she set the book back down on the table. “Well,” she said with an odd, faraway smile. “I guess that explains where I might have heard of you.”

“Really?” He was surprised. “How—”

“You’re an apprentice, aren’t you?”

Ethan swallowed. He was wishing now that he had never run his cart into this very attractive young woman. This was all moving way too fast. “I’m not sure I should be—”

She laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Ethan. I won’t tell anyone. Why would I? It sounds like you and I are the same.”

“You’re an apprentice, too?” He looked up at her. She seemed too old, and far too sure of herself to be at the same stage of her training as he was.

“Well, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “I’m not, not anymore. I just meant that we’re both students of the Art. Not that many of us around—it’s good to find each other, right?”

“I’m not sure—” he began. He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to be telling anyone.”

“Why not?” Her laugh was amused. “I mean, of course we’re not supposed to tell anyone who isn’t one of us, but what’s the harm in meeting others? Doesn’t it feel lonely sometimes, being the only one? Only having your master to talk to?”

He had to nod. He couldn’t even talk about magic with his mother, not really. It wasn’t just that she was so sick that he didn’t want to bother her with it—it was that he didn’t feel like he could really explain it to her even if she was healthy and wanted to hear it. And aside from her, there was only Stone. “I—Yeah. Sometimes it does.”

“Mind if I ask who your master is?” She was still looking neutrally interested, like she was enjoying having a chance to chat with someone who shared her favorite subjects.

He hesitated.

“Wow, you
are
a newbie, aren’t you?” Again she laughed, but this time it held the tiniest hint of mocking. “Don’t worry, Ethan. Seriously. It sounds like whoever he—or she—is, they’ve got you pretty worried about giving anything away. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Suddenly Ethan felt stupid and embarrassed. Here he was, talking to the only other mage he’d ever met in his life besides Stone and his father long ago, and he was acting like a frightened five-year-old. “He—his name’s Alastair Stone,” he said, his voice taking on a little defiance. “He lives up in Palo Alto.”

She considered. “Stone. Hmm...sounds familiar. Oh, right: British guy? Early thirties? Tall, thin, dark hair? Kinda hot in a geeky way?”

Something burned a little inside Ethan when she said ‘kinda hot,’ but he shoved it down and nodded. “That’s him, yeah. Do you know him?”

“Know of him. Never met him. We don’t exactly travel in the same circles. I can see why you’re so scared of letting anything slip, though.” She tossed the book back on the table.

“Why’s that?” Ethan finished up his coffee and stowed the book in his pack.

She shrugged. “Stone’s kind of old school. He’s young, but he was trained by the old guard, and it shows. He’s actually a pretty big deal power-wise, but you’d never know it since he kinda does his own thing. Don’t tell me,” she added, grinning. “He gets all authoritarian and gives you these big lectures about what you are and aren’t supposed to do, and tells you it’ll take you years to get through your apprenticeship.”

Ethan nodded, torn between how great Trina’s tight T-shirt looked as she breathed and not wanting to say anything against Stone. “Yeah, kinda. But he’s a good teacher,” he added quickly.

“Oh, I’m sure he is. I’ve heard he’s a fantastic teacher. And if you can stand working with him until he decides you’re done, he’ll probably teach you some great stuff.” She smiled and glanced at her watch. “Hey, listen, Ethan, I’ve gotta get going, but I’d like to get together again if that’s okay with you.”

He nodded. “That’d be cool,” he agreed. He was relieved that she wasn’t talking about Stone anymore, but also didn’t want their conversation to end.

“Tell you what—there’s a little thing at the Darkwave in Sunnyvale this Friday night. I’m gonna be there with some friends. You want to join us? It’s 18+ so it’s okay that you’re not 21 yet.”

Ethan forced himself not to sound too eager. This was the first time in his life that anybody had invited him to this sort of event. He thought briefly of his mother, but it would be at night—visiting hours would be over anyway. She’d probably be happy that he was finally getting himself a social life. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.” Pause, and then: “Are your friends—”

She grinned. “Yep. So you’ll have a chance to meet some more of us, if you want.” She reached in her small leather bag, pulled out a card, and wrote a time and an address on the back next to the words
Nightmare Room.
“Here’s where the party is. Starts at 10, but things don’t really get going until midnight. If you have any trouble getting in, just tell ’em you’re with me.” She handed him the card, brushing his fingertips with hers. “I really hope to see you there, Ethan. Oh—” she added, getting up. “One more thing.”

He was studying the card and trying to hold on to the tingle in his fingers where she’d touched him. “What’s that?”

For the first time she hesitated, looking nervous. “I hate to say this because I don’t want to encourage you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, but—would it be okay if you didn’t mention to Dr. Stone that we met? Like I said, he’s pretty old school, and I’m not sure he’d approve of you meeting other mages this early in your training. I really don’t want him showing up at my place going all Wrath of God on me for messing with his apprentice, or telling you he doesn’t want us getting together anymore.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me—from what I’ve heard, the guy might seem nice enough, but you don’t want to piss him off. And I’d feel pretty guilty if he decided to cut you loose because you’re not lockstepping along with his rules.”

Ethan nodded. “I won’t tell him.” He felt weird about that—keeping secrets from his master this early in his training didn’t seem like the right thing to do—but Stone didn’t have to know
everything
about his life. It wasn’t like Trina was going to be teaching him any magic or anything like that. They were just going to hang out, talk a little, and maybe he’d get somebody else’s perspective on the way things worked in the magical realm. Hell, Stone had even mentioned that most people who were Talented knew about it when they were a lot younger than he was, and that probably meant that by the time they started their apprenticeships, they knew a lot more general stuff about the arcane than he did. So, what would be the harm?

“Great,” she said. Damn, but she had a nice smile. She leaned down and brushed a kiss on the top of his head. “See you Friday, then. I think you and my other friends will get along great.”

And then she was gone, leaving Ethan to sit in his chair and watch the door where she’d exited. His thoughts were already far away, though. He didn’t even notice anything odd when the two young men—one blond, one dark-haired—got up and left the coffee shop a couple of minutes later. And it was several minutes after that when he remembered that he had a trunk full of groceries he really needed to get home.

Oliver was laughing his ass off as The Three drove north toward San Francisco. “You played that kid like a rented violin,” he told Trin from the driver’s seat.

“I wonder if he’s even been that close to a girl before,” Miguel said from the back. “Shit, I feel bad for the coffee shop guy, having to clean up all the drool around his chair after he leaves.”

“Now, now,” Trin said with a wicked grin. “He’s a nice boy. I just showed him a little attention, is all.” She stared out the window, thinking. “It’ll be a little harder than I thought, though: I didn’t know his master was Alastair Stone.”

“So?” Miguel asked.

She shrugged. “Stone’s a strange one. He’s an academic, mostly. Keeps to himself, but he’s got a reputation for being smart and good at reading people. Not to mention dangerous as fuck if you get him pissed off. We’ll have to be careful. The kid said he wouldn’t mention us to him, but he’s weak. If Stone catches on that something’s up, he’ll have it out of the kid in five minutes. And then we could be in trouble if we haven’t gotten what we need from him yet.”

Oliver made a contemptuous noise. “C’mon, Trin. No way Stone could stand up to all three of us. He’s a white mage, right? That means he’ll suck in a fight. We’d wipe up the floor with him.”

“Maybe, but I’d rather not have to,” she said. “Not directly, anyway. We can’t be involved personally. But it would be better if Ethan didn’t talk to him before Friday. Let me talk to a couple of people, and see what they can do for us to make that happen. Sometimes the mundane way is the best way of dealing with this sort of thing.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Stone was working late in his office on Thursday night. His course on Modern Occult Practices was particularly popular with the horror-writer set, which meant that any essays he assigned usually came back with far more detail than he’d asked for—or really wanted to read. He liked their enthusiasm, but always had to allow extra time for grading their essays.

He leaned back in his chair after finishing up one particularly purple specimen, raising his arms in a stretch and luxuriating in the satisfying
pops
up and down his back. A glance at the clock told him it was already after eight: he’d been here, hunched over his desk, for more than three hours following his last class of the day.

There were still at least ten more essays to go; if he did them tonight he wouldn’t get out of here for at least another couple of hours, and he’d half-promised Megan that he’d take her out to dinner. They hadn’t seen each other for a few days, since preparing upcoming final exams for their respective courses had taken up most of their time. Right now, Stone wasn’t missing his time with Ethan; if he’d had the boy’s magic lessons in addition to his course load, even the few hours of sleep per night that he’d been getting lately would become a luxury. He wasn’t exactly
glad
that Ethan hadn’t called, but he hadn’t done anything about it from his end, either.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, a habitual gesture that tended to make the front of it perpetually stick up in random, untidy spikes, and rose from the chair. “Tomorrow,” he muttered, gathering the ungraded essays, stuffing them in a folder, and filing them in his desk. The graded ones went into a different folder in the same drawer. Then he picked up the phone and tried Megan’s office on campus. She wasn’t there.

“Well, at least
somebody
has the sense to leave work at a proper time,” he continued under his breath, hanging up and dialing her home number. She didn’t answer there either, but that didn’t surprise him: she was probably on her way home or stopping to run errands. He left a message telling her he was leaving and that he’d pick her up in an hour, then shrugged into his overcoat, picked up his briefcase, and locked his office door behind him.

The building was deserted, as was the area around it, but this didn’t concern Stone. In the distance, he could see the pinprick lights of students’ bicycles as they rode by, heading toward the more central areas of the campus, along with the occasional car’s headlights filtering between the trees and the buildings. The ancient, ivy-covered building housing his office was about as far as it could be from the middle of campus and still be part of Stanford proper—it amused him more than offended him that Occult Studies was one of a number of small fringe programs that didn’t get much respect next to their more prestigious counterparts in the sciences, arts, and medicine.

After all, he’d known the way things were when he’d accepted the post in the department two years ago—which had brought the number of faculty members associated with it to exactly three. The other two were a stodgy old woman named Edwina Mortensen, who’d been threatening to retire for the last several years, and a failed horror author named MacKenzie Hubbard, who did as little as possible while using his free periods to pound out more unsalable prose. Neither of them thought much of Stone, who had come in and revitalized the department with his youth and charismatic lecturing style to the point where enrollments were actually up. The program was, for the first time in its history, not living in perpetual fear of landing on the chopping block next time there were budget cuts.

Stone exited the building and headed for his car. There was a parking lot closer to his building, but he chose to park the Jaguar in one a couple of blocks further away due to the fact that he didn’t like leaving it under trees and dealing with the leaves and bird droppings he’d find on it every day.

The lot wasn’t quite deserted; there were still quite a few evening courses that hadn’t let out yet. The Jaguar was right where he’d left it, three spaces down from the nearest overhead light. He was already going over possibilities for restaurants to suggest to Megan when he drew close to it and noticed that its rear driver’s-side tire had gone flat.

“Oh, bugger,” he muttered, dropping his briefcase and leaning down to examine it more closely. He—or rather his mechanic—kept the car in good repair, and there was certainly no reason why the tire should have died on its own. He must have run over a nail or something.

Frustrated, he bent over more, wondering if he should risk a light spell to see if he could spot the damage. He also wondered if he should try to change the tire on his own or if he’d need to trudge back up to his office and call Campus Services to come and do it for him. Either way, this was definitely going to make getting home on time to have dinner with Megan problematic.

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t hear the silent figures approaching him until they were upon him. One grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him upright, while another—dark, shadowy, and masked—drove a meaty fist into his stomach and doubled him back over.

He dropped to his knees, all the air forced out of him by the punch. He tried to form the pattern for a spell, but his attackers didn’t let up long enough to allow it. The one that had hold of his collar let go, instead grabbing his arm and yanking him back up to a standing position, locking it behind his back in an iron grip. The other thug gave him a couple more shots to the gut followed by a cross to the jaw. The first attacker released his arm and he staggered back, slammed into the Jaguar, and fell to the ground. Lights danced in front of his vision; he could feel himself starting to black out. Again he tried to form a spell, but again his head lit up with pain and the pattern skittered away, eluding him. With no other ideas presenting themselves, he drew his legs up into him and tried to protect his head with his arms. He hoped that whatever they wanted, it wasn’t to kill him, since he couldn’t see any way he could stop them.

The two were silent and efficient in their work. Stone heard nothing but their breathing as they snapped three hard kicks into his ribs, then one to his head that he was able to deflect most of by shifting position at the last minute. He heard a moan, and realized it was coming from him. A far-off voice yelled something that sounded like “Hey!” Hands fumbled in his coat, and then the sound of running feet.

He tried to force himself out of his fetal position, to fling a spell at the retreating attackers, but the pain was coming from everywhere at once, and only got worse when he moved.
I wonder where the voice came from...
was his last thought before he passed out.

He opened his eyes to find two blurred, worried-looking faces hovering over him. “Oh, God,” one of them breathed. Female. “He’s awake. Stay still, sir. We don’t know how bad you’re hurt. Paul’s gone off to call an ambulance.”

He was still on his side, still tightly pulled up in the fetal ball. He tasted hot blood and felt small rocks from the parking lot cutting into his cheek. A crumpled candy wrapper lay a few inches from his face. He tried to say something, but it came out as an inarticulate groan.

“Please don’t move,” another voice urged. Male this time. Young. They both sounded like students, and both sounded scared. “Help’s coming soon.”

Ignoring them both, Stone gritted his teeth and tried to straighten his legs. Big mistake. His entire midsection burst with pain, as if someone had lit him on fire. A weak little scream forced itself out between his teeth as he rolled himself onto his back, eyes clamped shut.

“Here, hold on—” The female student’s voice shook. She fumbled for a moment and then there was something soft under his head. “Better?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice. Lying still now, he tried to take inventory past the layers of cotton wool that were packing his brain. His stomach hurt, and he was vaguely nauseated. The back of his head throbbed, a dull, digging ache that hurt like the world’s worst migraine. His jaw stung, and he still tasted blood. And worst of all, his lower ribs felt like each one was traced with its own personal line of white-hot fire. Might be cracked, but he was afraid to move any more to check.

The female student put a warm hand on his forehead, shoving his damp hair back. “What’s your name, sir?”

He had to give that some thought. “S...Stone.”

“Do you teach here? We couldn’t find your ID...”

Stone opened his eyes. The female student was crouched next to him, while the male was upright, keeping watch—either for the ambulance, or to make sure that the thugs weren’t coming back. “I—” He nodded. “Y-yes.” He waved vaguely and immediately regretted it.

“Please, you shouldn’t talk anymore. Just lie still.”

“Listen—” he whispered. When the girl leaned in, he continued, “Call—call Megan. Megan—Whitney. English... department. Tell her...I’ll—be late.” Then the cotton wool finally closed in, and he didn’t get to find out whether she’d gotten the message correct.