Stone and Claw: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles Read online

  At this point, the place would be positively cavernous when he moved in. His study would be furnished, but aside from that he’d managed to pick up only the barest necessities: a bed and armoire for the master bedroom, a sofa and coffee table for the sitting room, and a heavy wooden dining set he’d found in an antique shop in Atherton. Aside from that, he’d solicited Verity’s suggestions for appliances to replace its previous harvest-gold monstrosities. Following the infusion of a significant amount of money for purchase and expedited installation, he was now the owner of a sleek, ultra-modern kitchen with granite countertops and a massive gas range that would make a gourmand proud. He didn’t care, but Verity did, so he gave her his parameters (“nothing fussy—I get enough of that back home”) and set her loose with the contractor.

  All of this, of course, could have been accomplished on a smaller budget, but ever since his return from Calanar, Trevor Harrison’s magic-rich dimension, he’d been plagued with the overwhelming compulsion to make some changes in his life. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t chosen to remain behind and let Harrison introduce him to areas of study that would catapult his magical knowledge to levels he’d never thought possible. He didn’t regret that decision—much—but he did find it made him restless to get out of the ruts he felt he’d fallen into. Perhaps a change of scenery would help with that.

  In any case, despite his sudden restlessness, he found over the past few weeks following his return that a big chunk of the low-grade tension he’d been carrying ever since he’d gone black had melted away. He might not have let Harrison teach him the secrets of dimensional travel and teleportation—yet—but he’d been delighted to discover the new magical techniques he’d learned on Calanar translated quite nicely to Earth, thank you very much. Sure, as Harrison had warned him, he didn’t have the same level of power he had back there since Calanar was inherently much more magical, but that was fine. He’d expected that. He still had more than he’d had before, and using magic was easier now than it had ever been. As long as he didn’t overextend himself too much the fatigue he used to get doing white magic had vanished, and likewise he no longer experienced the sensation of slow draining he’d dealt with as a black mage. His only limitation now was the amount of power his body could channel, and as long as he kept himself in reasonable shape, that amount was significant.

  And almost best of all, the compulsions to re-create the rush he got when taking power from others as a black mage had all but disappeared. Now, he once again felt comfortable examining auras without the fear he might be tempted to “take a little off the top.” That, too, added to his general sense of well-being.

  “I should go,” he said again, scooping up Raider and taking one final look around the empty space. “I’m not looking forward to unpacking—especially not with the quarter starting soon.”

  “Take your time,” she said. “Moving into a new place should be fun, not stressful. I should get back—got the afternoon shift at the coffee shop today. If you want, I’ll come by later and break in your new kitchen with a recipe I’ve been meaning to try.”

  “Sounds brilliant. I’ll see you then.”

  After she left, he took a last look around the attic, checking with magical sight to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. Raider struggled in his arms—affectionate and amiable, the cat nonetheless preferred human-feline interactions to be on his terms—but Stone held fast. “Sorry, mate,” he said. “We’ll be out of here soon, and you’ll have a whole new domain to investigate. But let me have a last look ’round, all right?”

  He slowly trudged down the stairs, memories flooding in as he did.

  A glance in the spare bedroom where he’d kept Raider when he first arrived reminded him of Edwina Mortenson sitting cross-legged on the floor, coaxing the terrified cat into her lap.

  Downstairs, the sitting room sofa brought back thoughts of the night Deirdre Lanier had sat there and explained her secret to him. The kitchen recalled all the nights he’d perched at the breakfast bar, chatting with Verity while she puttered away creating all sorts of recipes, glad for the chance to use his more upscale setup instead of the one in her apartment. The hallway called up the night he’d injured Verity with a concussion bolt when he thought she’d attacked Deirdre…

  “Enough,” he muttered. “Time to move forward, not look back.” He shifted Raider to one arm, retrieved the cat carrier from the table by the kitchen door, and headed for the garage.

  It was indeed time to move forward.

  2

  The next day, Stone was unpacking the stack of boxes piled in his new study when his mobile buzzed. He finished levitating a row of books onto the top shelf—okay, it wasn’t strictly necessary to do it that way, but it felt so good to be able to again, especially guilt-free—and picked it up from the desk. “Yes, hello?”

  “Dr. Stone? Beatrice Martinez.”

  That was odd. Why was the head of the Cultural Anthropology department calling him at home? The new quarter didn’t start for several more days, and he didn’t have any meetings scheduled until next week. “Ah, hello, Dr. Martinez. How are you?”

  “Very well. Better than I hoped, actually.”

  Stone put the phone in speaker mode and returned it to the desk so he could continue shelving books. “That sounds encouraging. What’s up?”

  “I think I might have found you a new colleague—temporarily, at least.”

  Several books stopped on the way to the shelf, hovering in midair. “Oh?”

  She chuckled. “Now, don’t get too excited. Nothing’s final yet. She’ll be joining us as a visiting lecturer, just for this quarter. If things work out, we can discuss where to go from there.”

  Stone frowned, settling the books into their place and perching on the edge of the desk. “Seems rather—sudden, doesn’t it?” Had it already been almost a year since he’d witnessed Edwina Mortenson’s death in the Brunderville cave-in?

  “It is, and I apologize for that. But with your new status, especially when we thought you might not be back for the Fall, we had to do something. As I’m sure you’re aware, Dr. Hubbard has been…quite vocal in his requests to bring someone else on board, so when Dr. Garra expressed interest in the position, we moved fast.”

  It was a fair point: when he’d had no idea how long his trip to Harrison’s dimension would be—or even if he’d return from it at all—he’d told the University he’d planned an extended research trip overseas. Naturally, he couldn’t have anticipated the time difference between the dimensions, so when he’d returned after only three days, he’d had to do some fast talking to explain why the “research trip” had to be cancelled due to logistical difficulties. He wondered if bringing someone on without consulting him about it was Martinez’s way of getting back at him for putting her in a tough spot. If so, he couldn’t exactly blame her. “Er—all right, then. Brilliant. I look forward to meeting her.”

  “Well, actually, that’s why I called. I’d love for you and Dr. Hubbard to get together with her for a chat soon. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

  “I am—not much going on right now. Just moving into the new place.”

  “Oh—right. I forgot about that. Are you settling in?”

  He glanced around at the half-empty boxes scattered around the floor, including one Raider had claimed for his own. “Getting there. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Faculty Club at noon. I think you’re going to like Dr. Garra. She’s young, but she’s got some good experience.”

  As Stone hung up and resumed shelving the books, he glanced at Raider. “Lot of things changing these days, aren’t they?”

  The cat leaped out of the box he’d been sitting in and strolled out of the room, as if to say, Your problem, Dad. Me, I’m just a cat.

  3

  When Stone arrived at the Stanford Faculty Club shortly before noon the next day, Mackenzie Hubbard loitered in the courtyard outside, finishing a candy bar. Despite the late-summer heat, the older professor wore his
usual baggy pants, polo shirt, and rumpled cardigan sweater.

  “They’re not here yet,” he said without greeting. “I checked.”

  “Ah. Well, at least I’m not late today. That’s something.”

  Hubbard popped the last of the bar into his mouth, crumpled the wrapper, and tossed it in a nearby trash receptacle. Then he looked Stone up and down, his brow furrowing.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Sorry. You look…different somehow. Can’t put my finger on it.”

  Stone shrugged as if to say can’t help you. Of course he knew exactly what it was: the grueling physical training Harrison’s associates had put him through back on Calanar had added noticeable muscle to his slim frame and trimmed his already-trim waist even more. It wasn’t immediately obvious to anyone who didn’t know him well—he’d been thin before and he was still thin—but he liked both the look and the increased strength, and had thus made it a point to spend more time at the gym so he didn’t lose them. He found it comforting that Hubbard hadn’t paid enough attention to him to notice the change.

  “Eh, anyway. Sorry to hear your research trip got cancelled, but I can’t say I’m sorry you won’t be around this quarter. At least it sounds like Martinez might finally have found somebody to help out. About time.”

  “Well, we’re hardly found on every street corner.”

  “I just hope this one’s better than the last few we’ve interviewed. I’m desperate, but not that desperate.”

  “We’ll see, I suppose. How’s the latest book going?”

  Hubbard brightened. “Still outlining—hoping to start writing soon, especially if we get somebody in to help with the class load. Still waiting to hear back on the last one I sent out a few months back.”

  Stone made a noncommittal noise and nodded. He’d lost count of how many horror novels Hubbard had written and failed to sell since they’d met many years ago. He supposed he should admire the man’s dedication, if nothing else.

  “Dr. Stone! Dr. Hubbard!”

  Stone, pleased he wouldn’t have to hear the plot of Hubbard’s latest masterpiece, glanced up to see Beatrice Martinez approaching with another woman.

  “I like her already,” Hubbard muttered from behind him.

  “Down, boy,” Stone murmured. “You’re a married man.”

  He couldn’t fault Hubbard, though: the woman who followed Martinez was attractive, no doubt about it. Tall and lithe, she stalked along on stiletto heels with the easy grace of a cat. As the two women approached she looked Stone and Hubbard over, her eyes narrowed with cool amusement.

  “Ah,” Martinez said. “You’re already here. Hope you didn’t have to wait long.” She smiled and indicated the woman. “Gentlemen, this is Dr. Marciella Garra. Dr. Garra, may I present Drs. Alastair Stone and Mackenzie Hubbard.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Marciella Garra said. She shook Hubbard’s hand first, then lingered a moment longer over Stone’s with a strong, firm grip. “Dr. Martinez has told me so much about both of you.” She spoke in low tones, with a hint of a Spanish accent.

  “The pleasure’s ours,” Stone said, using the handshake as an opportunity to study her for a moment before they broke off to head inside. She wore a conservative, dark-red business suit with a narrow skirt, a high-collared white blouse, and a simple gold chain around her neck. Her long, shimmering black hair swept back from a high forehead, revealing golden-brown eyes and sculpted cheekbones. A sly, impish smile tugged at her full lips, as if she were fully aware of the effect she had on men.

  They followed Martinez back to the same small, private dining room where Stone had met with Larry Duncan and Bryce Riley from The Other Side a few months ago. After they’d all settled in and ordered drinks, Martinez addressed Stone and Hubbard. “As I said when I contacted you, I know bringing on Dr. Garra has been quite sudden, but it’s only for the one quarter, so we can all see how we work together. As much as I know we’re all still mourning the tragic loss of Dr. Mortenson, I know both of you have been eager to bring someone else in to help with the course load.” She shifted her gaze briefly to Hubbard as she said this.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Garra said. “I read some of Dr. Mortenson’s work after Dr. Martinez and I began talking, and I wish I’d had the chance to meet her.”

  “She was a remarkable lady,” Martinez agreed. “But we do need to move forward—as you know, the department has become quite popular over the past few years—” this time her quick glance fell on Stone “—and it’s not fair to ask the two of you to handle the work on your own. Dr. Garra has only recently become available, so I felt it would be in all of our best interests to invite her to join us. She’ll be acting as a visiting lecturer, for the fall quarter at minimum. Afterward, we’ll all evaluate our options going forward.”

  “Brilliant,” Stone said. “Dr. Garra, what’s your area of expertise? I don’t recall seeing your name in any of the journals.”

  Garra smiled. “I’m not surprised—most of my work has been practical in nature, and my work has appeared only in Spanish-language publications.”

  “Ah, that explains it, then. I’m afraid I’ve never learned the language.”

  Her smile broadened. “It doesn’t sound like you grew up in this area.”

  “What was your first clue?” he asked, chuckling.

  “To answer your question, my studies have centered mostly around the occult myths and legends of the Quechua people of northern Peru. The people there have rich and fascinating traditions. If you’re interested, I might be able to locate a couple of translations of articles I’ve written.”

  “I know I would,” Hubbard said. “That’s an area I don’t think we cover enough in our program here. I’m sure the students will find it fascinating.”

  Stone raised an eyebrow at him. That was the most interest old Hubbard had shown in anything outside of his novels in years.

  “That was my hope as well,” Martinez said. “It never hurts to broaden our areas of study.”

  Stone sat back, sipping his drink as the three of them spent the next several minutes discussing South American occult traditions. He focused his attention on each of them equally, but took the opportunity when no one was specifically watching him to shift to magical sight and study Marciella Garra’s aura. It blazed a bright, vibrant green next to Hubbard’s more subdued orange and Martinez’s steady turquoise.

  He realized as he got a better look at her that she wasn’t quite as attractive as he’d initially thought—certainly lovelier than most female professors he’d met, but a significant portion of her appeal came from the way she carried herself: confident, graceful, sensual, but with the kind of straightforward focus one didn’t see that often. She looked like the kind of person who didn’t take anything from anybody, and that was sexy all by itself.

  Stop it, he told himself sternly as their entrées arrived and he caught himself checking for any signs of illusion or other magical subterfuge. Ever since he’d gotten back from Calanar, he’d had to remind himself that people on Earth didn’t generally put up illusions to make themselves look more attractive, like the Talented routinely did.

  “So, Dr. Stone,” Garra said, turning her easy smile back on him. “As I said, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ve read some of your work—it’s impressive.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I understand you’re quite popular around here.”

  “Well… that’s not really what it’s all about, is it? I just hope the students are getting something useful from my courses.”

  “Dr. Stone is too modest,” Martinez said. “He teaches some of our most popular courses, and he’s responsible for significant enrollment growth in the Occult Studies program.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Garra said. “I hope we’ll have the opportunity for some good discussions this quarter.”

  “Indeed,” Stone agreed with a quick glance at Hubbard. If the other professor minded all the attention Stone was getting, he
didn’t show it.

  “All three of us,” Garra added.

  They spent the rest of the lunch in pleasant conversation, mostly focused on Garra’s experiences in Peru and her questions about the University. By the time they finished and rose to leave, Stone could see she’d already won Hubbard over. He couldn’t blame the man—even aside from her attractiveness and obvious intelligence, she definitely seemed to have the necessary chops to handle the job. Hubbard wasn’t the only one who hoped she might be the candidate who would bring their department back to three again.

  On his way back to his car, Stone’s mobile buzzed. “Yes?”

  “Al? It’s Jason.”

  “Ah, hello, Jason. How are you? How’s the private investigator business?”

  He hadn’t spoken with Jason Thayer since the events at the end of the summer; he’d been meaning to call, but he still wasn’t convinced his friend had come to terms with him and Verity seeing each other. He had no idea if Verity had shared anything with him about what had happened on Calanar.

  “That’s actually what I’m calling about. I passed, Al!”

  “Passed?” He had to think about that for a second. “Ah! You passed your private investigator’s exam?”

  “Yep. Just found out. Now all I have to do is submit the application and I’ll be a licensed PI.”

  Stone couldn’t help grinning at the happiness in Jason’s voice. “Well done, Jason. Congratulations! Of course I knew you’d do it, but it must be quite a relief to have that behind you.”

  “Oh, hell yeah.”

  “You’ve already told Verity, I presume?”

  “Yeah, called her before I called you. I’m—coming up this weekend, if you want to get together and have dinner or something.”