The Seventh Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles Read online

  The Seventh Stone

  Alastair Stone Chronicles Book Sixteen

  R. L. King

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Don’t miss Alastair Stone’s next adventure!

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  Books by R. L. King

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by R. L. King

  The Seventh Stone: Alastair Stone Chronicles Book Sixteen

  First Edition, December 2018

  Edited by John Helfers

  Cover Art by Streetlight Graphics

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people, except by agreement with the vendor of the book. If you would like to share this book with another person, please use the proper avenues. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  1

  Two years ago

  She called herself Blake now, and her circumstances were considerably improved these days.

  She’d moved to the Los Angeles area, and found to her surprise that she liked it. She hadn’t expected to, thinking it would be too hot, too dusty, too dry, too…sprawling. She also figured it would be full of shallow, pretentious people who didn’t give a damn about anything but themselves—but to the extent that was true, she didn’t mind. She didn’t give a damn about anything but herself either, and it was easier to keep one’s head down and tend to one’s own business when everybody else couldn’t care less what you were doing. Unless you could help them, of course.

  The amusing part was that she could have helped them—quite a lot, in fact—if she’d considered them worth her effort.

  Her home, a single-story Spanish structure set well back from the end of a winding road in the Topanga Canyon area, was not large or impressive by the standards of the eclectic, multimillion-dollar structures in its vicinity. She’d chosen it for three reasons: first, it was remote—nearly a mile separated it from its nearest neighbor, which meant it was unlikely anyone would blunder up here by accident. Second, it had a spacious multi-purpose room—the previous occupants had used it as an art studio, and it still smelled vaguely of clay and old oil paint—large enough for whatever rituals she wanted to perform. Even if that turned out not to be true, the patio out back was. Third, and possibly most importantly, she’d been able to use a combination of intimidation, seduction, and subtle magical pressure to convince the wealthy man she was “renting” it from that he needn’t pay any attention to pesky details like payment. Not that she couldn’t have afforded it...but why?

  It was late—well after two a.m. on a pleasant summer night. She lounged by the pool, sipping whiskey on the rocks and gazing up at the stars. It was clear tonight, warm but not too warm, the moonlight dancing over the gentle waves in the nearly-still water. She’d been out earlier, allowing a hungry young would-be actor to buy her an expensive dinner and then take her back to his place afterward. He had a handsome face, the intellect of a golden retriever, and was hung like a horse—just the way she liked them. He thought she was a producer who could get him a plum role in her next film. She supposed he’d be surprised when he found out the truth later, but that was all right. He’d gotten a good time out of it, at least, so he could hardly complain too much.

  She set her drink aside and swung her legs around, regarding the flickering moonlight over the pool. Much as she’d enjoy sitting here a while longer, it was time to get down to business. Standing, she wrapped a silk robe around herself, tied it, and gazed into the water. If she squinted a little, she almost thought she could see a face there. Not the would-be actor this time. Hatred bubbled up as she glared at the swirling image and imagined his mocking blue eyes, the way his thin lips curled in a sardonic smile, his spiking, unruly dark hair.

  She frowned, eyes narrowing. “You thought I forgot about you, didn’t you?” she murmured. “That’s all right—I can be patient too.”

  Back inside, she surveyed the circle she’d built. It had taken her several days, working off and on, to construct it. It wasn’t the largest one she’d ever used, fitting easily into her inside space, but it was one of the most complex. It had to be, since its object would doubtless be strongly protected. Punching through his defenses wouldn’t be easy—she couldn’t have done it before.

  But a lot of things had changed since then.

  Tonight’s ritual was simple: first, she would locate her target. She already knew where he was, of course, or at least where he should be—but that wasn’t the point. The location was only the first part. Once she had a lock on him, she could do any number of other things. Even kill him, possibly, if she did everything just right. But she didn’t want to kill him remotely. That wouldn’t be any fun at all. When he died, she wanted to be right there, to see his wi
de-eyed expression of terror as he realized there was nothing he could do. She wanted to hear his screams. Perhaps he’d even beg her for mercy. That would be entertaining.

  No, killing him wasn’t in her plans—not yet, anyway. Tonight, she would simply locate him and mark him. A subtle thing he would never notice, especially if he was asleep when she reached him. An inconsequential addition to his aura, similar to a magical tracking device, that would ensure she could find him no matter where he might be. Then she could seek him out and strike him down at her leisure, after making the proper plans to ensure success.

  That was one of the things Razakal had taught her. She’d never been very good at patience before, always taking what she wanted without regard for future implications. The Other hadn’t been, either—but the Other was gone, burned away and destroyed like all the rest, back when she’d nearly died. Back when the gate had been sealed.

  Back when Razakal had approached her with his own bargain.

  Yes, things were different now.

  Different…and better.

  And a hell of a lot more powerful.

  She held out her arms, studying the intricate tattoos there. They weren’t the same ones she’d had before, the ones that had been ruined in the fire, but she liked these better. As she watched, they writhed and twined around forearms displaying no scars, no trace of their former burns. “Ready to do this?” she murmured.

  The tattoos, which had been black, flashed brief red. Their writhing was almost sensual.

  He approved.

  She knew he would. He didn’t care what she did most of the time, as long as she kept him fed.

  She sat in the center of the circle, cross-legged on the floor. In front of her, a small bowl contained a mixture she’d concocted, including several bits of her target’s hair. It hadn’t been easy to get—she’d had to pay an agent in the area to obtain it and send it to her—but it would make the spell easier.

  It wasn’t a typical tracking spell. If it had been, she couldn’t have done it from here, well out of range. Instead, it was something Razakal had showed her, using a psychic component that allowed a much longer reach. Using it, she could mark him anywhere in the country, and probably as far away as Mexico or Canada. She’d already checked earlier today, and as far as she could determine, he had obligations here and wouldn’t be leaving the country in the next day or two.

  Here we go.

  She smiled—if her date earlier that evening had seen the smile, he’d have run away as fast as he could, mind-blowing sex or no mind-blowing sex—and sat back, reaching out with her senses just as Razakal had shown her. This wouldn’t take long. In only a few minutes, the first phase of her plan would be safely squared away. The only thing she had to be careful about was making sure he didn’t notice anything.

  Her probe reached out, riding the etheric energy of the astral plane like a fish slicing through an ocean current. She let herself relax, keeping it in her sight but knowing it would take time to find its quarry. Even at her new power levels, it wouldn’t be as easy as if he were a mundane. His protections were strong, even when he wasn’t expecting trouble.

  The probe hesitated a moment, and she poured more power into it, frowning. It hadn’t worked like this before—in her practice attempts on other targets, it had always pressed forward, moving unerringly to its goal.

  This time, it seemed…confused?

  How could that be? He couldn’t have caught on to what she was doing. It was impossible. Hell, he probably didn’t even know she was alive. How could he know?

  The swirling energy hesitated a moment longer, then firmed up and shot off with more confidence. In only a few seconds, it located its target and settled around it, almost like a proud hunting dog sniffing out its master’s downed game.

  She blinked, as confused as the spell’s energy had been a moment ago.

  That couldn’t be right. There was no way it could have found him that fast. Even without his protections, the distances were too great. She’d expected to have to trace it for at least five minutes, and yet here it was, already confident it had located its target.

  Had he come to Los Angeles? Why would he do that? There was no portal in the area, so he’d have to have flown or driven, and her agent had assured her he had no events down here.

  So if he wasn’t here, then what had the spell found?

  She sharpened her focus, tracing it outward. Another feature of this particular spell that made it better than the standard tracking spell was that the caster could get a look at the target. Not a good look, and it got even more murky as the space increased, but certainly good enough to tell whether she’d found the man she sought or the spell had glitched somehow.

  She concentrated harder. It was easier now, with the power from Razakal added to her own. Everything was easier now. It was wonderful. Only a few seconds later, the shifting, swirling currents of the astral plane drifted aside, opening a brief window on her target.

  “What the hell…?” she whispered.

  The window revealed not the man she’d expected to see, but a much younger one—certainly no older than eighteen, and probably even younger than that. Slim and handsome, he had dark, spiky hair dramatically tipped with white-blond. He leaned back against what might have been a bar, laughing. He wore a snug-fitting shirt unbuttoned nearly all the way to reveal an impressively ripped physique, tight pants, and held a drink in a languid hand. There seemed to be at least one other person around him, but the nature of the spell made it impossible to get even a faint view of anyone not its target.

  “Who the fuck are you?” she asked, trying to focus tighter to get more detail. What was going on? The spell didn’t fail like this. Either it found the person it sought, or it didn’t—it didn’t fixate on random other people.

  She almost dropped it in disgust, hoping she hadn’t expended her tether item on a failure, when Razakal’s soft, compelling voice spoke in her mind.

  Don’t be so quick to assume failure. Consider the possibilities. This could provide an even better path for your plan—and it could prove beneficial to both of us.

  She closed her eyes and sighed. There he was, being cryptic again. He almost never told her things directly, preferring for her to reach the proper conclusion herself. Fine, then. Arguing with Razakal was a dangerous thing to do anyway; better to work out what he meant.

  Consider the possibilities, he’d said.

  Well, she’d used her target’s hair in the ritual, which meant it should have found him easily. Body parts were the best tether objects by far, and the only one that would have been better was blood. But using body parts should have ensured…

  Wait.

  No. It can’t be. That’s not possible.

  Is it?

  She focused again, studying the young man’s face. Sharp features, strong jawline, high cheekbones, somewhat pointed chin…

  Could that be a resemblance, or was it only wishful thinking on her part?

  In her mind, Razakal purred his approval.

  It was a resemblance. A strong one, in fact. And if her concoction had led her to this young man, it could only mean—

  Unseen in the dark ritual room, lit only by the candles and the glow of the circle’s sigils, her face split into a malevolent grin. She let the vision fade, allowing the circle to return to its quiescent state.

  Oh, yes. Razakal was right: this could provide an even better path for her plan.

  Not as fast, sure. But much, much more satisfying if she could pull it off.

  She rose from her seated position and padded out of the room, leaving the circle cleanup for tomorrow as she considered what this might mean.

  She had a lot to do tomorrow.

  2

  Alastair Stone had barely made it into the house, shaking rain off his black wool overcoat and umbrella, before Raider, his rangy tabby, shot out from a nearby hiding place and twined around his legs.

  “Stop it,” Stone admonished with a chuckle. “If you kill me, you
won’t get fed.” He held up the bag he carried. “Although, I suppose you could just eat my dead body, so perhaps you’ve got a plan after all.”

  The cat followed him as he carried the bag down the hall to the kitchen, got out a plate, and made a small meal of fish from a couple of the sushi rolls. He glanced at the calendar, checking the date once again even though he already knew how long it would be before Verity returned.

  He didn’t like this time of year very much. In mid-January, the holidays were over (thank goodness—though it had been good to spend some time at home with Aubrey), and the busy early part of the quarter had already passed. Two weeks in, he had his classes and a few meetings to attend, but for the most part he was on his own.

  “So,” he said to Raider as he opened a Guinness, plucked up a California roll with his chopsticks, and leaned against the counter, “it’s just you and me, mate. Auntie Verity and Uncle Jason won’t be back until next week.”