By Demons Driven by R. L. King

Author:R. L. King [King, R. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Magespace Press
Published: 2020-07-20T22:00:00+00:00

14

Bron

By now, I should be used to things not going at all like I expect them to, but go figure.

The bar where Alastair Stone told us to meet him is on a crowded, trendy street in downtown Palo Alto. We’re almost late because it takes us forever to find a parking spot. We find a lot three blocks away and dodge shoppers on our way back.

Nick doesn’t say much. We’ve had most of our conversations already, in the few hours we’ve had to wait since we left Stanford. There’s only so much you can do to kill time when you’re stressed out; if it’s driving Nick half as crazy as it is me to be spinning our wheels while who knows what might be happening back home in our absence, I’m surprised he’s staying as calm as he is.

I can’t decide what I think of Stone. I caught a look at his aura while we were in the parking lot, and it’s impressive: a bright, blazing purple and gold. Most mages don’t have two-toned auras. It’s often an indicator of heavy-duty power, but not always. Usually, it has more to do with strength of will. I’ve heard even some mundanes can have it, but I’ve never met one. The only mage I’ve ever seen with one is Nana—hers is a warm orange coupled with gold.

I hope Stone has the power—or at least the knowledge—to back up his confidence. I don’t have any illusions that he’s going to bail on his research trip and come back to L.A. with us to deal with Razakal, but maybe at least he can give us some information we can use.

The bar is hard to spot: a small, dark door sandwiched between a furniture store and a Japanese restaurant. There isn’t much light inside, but quite a few people are already there. I exchange glances with Nick again, and I’m sure he’s wondering the same thing I am: is Stone going to show? If I was making a bet, I’d give it even odds to go either way.

But no, there he is, sitting at a secluded booth in the farthest corner of the back room. He’s still wearing the Pink Floyd T-shirt, and he has a half-finished pint of some dark beer in front of him.

“You did show up,” Nick says, sliding in across from him.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” Stone seems a lot less mocking and a lot more serious than he had before.

I take the spot next to Nick. “Who knows? You have to admit it seemed like you weren’t taking us seriously.”

“I wasn’t, at first. You can’t begin to suspect how many nutters I have to deal with when they find out what I do.” He sips his pint, then indicates it with a jerk of his chin. “Want something?”

“Not right now,” Nick says. “We want to know what you know about Razakal.”

He raises a hand. “Hold on. I want to know what you know about Razakal first. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

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