Stone and a Hard Place (3 page)

“So,” he said after swallowing, “I trust my qualifications are acceptable?”

If Ethan’s eyes had gotten any bigger, they might have fallen right out of his head. He nodded. “Uh…yeah. Yeah.”

Mrs. Penrose laughed. “You did ask him to show you what he could do.”

Ethan didn’t answer for a long time. He looked first at Stone, then at his mother. “So…what do you think?” he asked her. His tone suggested he wasn’t asking for her permission, but for her counsel. Making her part of the decision.

She smiled a wan but proud smile. “It’s up to you, kiddo. I know you’ve got it in you, but it sounds like you’re going to have to work your butt off to get it. Are you ready for that?”

“If you need a bit of time to think about it, you can give me a call tomorrow,” Stone said. “It’s not the sort of commitment one should make lightly. Sleep on it, if you like. Give me an answer in the morning. Or next week. I’m not in any hurry.”

But Ethan shook his head. “I don’t need to think it over, Dr. Stone. This is what I want to do. I accept your conditions. Will you train me?”

Stone nodded briskly. “All right, you’ve got yourself a teacher.” Rising from his chair, he pulled out a business card, scribbled his home address and phone number on it, and passed it to Ethan. “I expect you at my place next Monday afternoon, three o’clock. That’ll give me some time to prepare a few lessons ahead. Don’t be late. Oh! And—” He glanced around until he spotted his overcoat hanging on the hall tree near the door. He gestured, and a small red book sailed from an inner pocket and landed next to Ethan. “Read this by then. It’ll give you a little grounding, so I won’t have to trot out the whole tiresome intro lecture.”

For only the second time that night, Ethan’s thin face lit with a smile. “Thanks, Dr. Stone. I won’t let you down.”

“See that you don’t.” But Stone returned the smile. Maybe this would work out after all.

To his surprise, Mrs. Penrose got up and accompanied Stone to the door, motioning for Ethan to stay put. She gave Stone a faint, tired smile. “I’m so glad you’ve agreed to take him on, Dr. Stone. He’s a good kid, but he just needs a little guidance. Things haven’t been great for him, losing his father so young and now…this.” She spread her hands, indicating herself.

Stone nodded. “I’m sure we’ll do fine.”

Her smile grew wistful. “I miss Matthew terribly, even after all these years. He used to show me the most amazing things. I wish you could have met him—I think you’d have liked him. He loved magic so much. I’m sure he was looking forward to seeing if Ethan would have it too, so he could teach him.” She shivered and looked away. “I…I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but the magic isn’t the only reason I’m glad you’ve agreed to this.”

“Oh?”

She glanced toward the living room, where Ethan still sat. “Ever since Matthew died, it’s just been Ethan and me. We do all right, but I…I think it will be good for him to have a man in his life. Sort of…a father figure.”

Stone didn’t answer right away. He didn’t want to tell her that he was hardly father-figure material; this didn’t seem the right time. “I’ll—do my best, Mrs. Penrose. I wasn’t kidding about the amount of work I’ll be expecting of him, though. He won’t have time to get into trouble.”

She chuckled. “That’s what I was hoping for. It’s been the two of us for too long. He needs someone else around to give him something else to care about. Especially since there’s a good chance I might—“ She trailed off, but her meaning was obvious.

Stone saw no reply that wasn’t either dismissive or patronizing, so instead he said, “I’ll make a mage of him, Mrs. Penrose, if he’s willing to work. You have my word on that.”

“Good.” She swallowed. “I know you will, Dr. Stone. I know you’ll do well by him. Walter speaks very highly of you. He says you’re probably the best teacher Ethan could have. I know he’s in good hands.”

After Stone left, Ethan waited for his mother to return to the living room. He still held the book Stone had given him, and idly began flipping through it.

“So…?” his mother asked, resuming her seat on the couch and gathering her blanket around her “What do you think?”

He didn’t answer right away. For several moments he continued leafing through the book. It was old, bound in leather, with heavy, deckle-edged pages and old-fashioned print. Along with the text, there were many diagrams, depicting circles with odd sigils and symbols around them, old-style drawings of naked humans engaging in various magical acts (this gave him a moment of panic:
nobody does magic in the nude, do they?
), and elaborate mystical formulas that looked like the world’s weirdest math problems. He looked up at his mother. “Do you think I’ll be able to do this? To do—the kind of stuff he did?”

She smiled. “Your father did. And Dr. Stone seems to think you can.”

“What did you think of him?”

“Dr. Stone? He seemed very…focused. And a lot younger than I thought he’d be,” she added after a moment’s consideration.

“Yeah…” Ethan had spoken with Walter Yarborough on the phone a couple of days ago to get some idea what to expect. He recalled Yarborough’s words about Stone:
he’s bloody clever, eccentric as hell, and the best mage of his generation that I know
. But even with that, the mage had been nothing like Ethan had expected.

He’d only met Yarborough himself once, a few years ago. The older man was every bit your typical stodgy British stereotype: salt-and-pepper hair, impressive paunch, big moustache, gray tweed suit that had gone out of style long before Ethan was born, clothes and fingers festooned with strange pins, rings, and amulets. Maybe not exactly mage-looking, but definitely in the ballpark. And definitely fatherly—if not even grandfatherly—in his demeanor.

Stone, on the other hand, was—for lack of a better word—
cool
. How many mages wore a long black overcoat, jeans, and a Queen T-shirt? Yeah, okay, it was a geeky kind of cool, but Ethan understood that all too well, since it was the only kind he himself could reasonably aspire to. He gave a short laugh. “Mr. Yarborough said he’d be hard to deal with. Said he’s moody and—how did he put it?—‘doesn’t suffer fools gladly,’ but if I can keep up with him, he’ll make me into a good mage.”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Mom asked. She pulled up her blanket a little more, even though the room wasn’t at all chilly.

“I’ll probably piss him off.”

She gave him a fond smile. “You might—but I think your natural charm will win him over.”

Ethan ducked his head, looking away. She was his mother so she had to say things like that, but he didn’t think he possessed very much in the way of natural charm. He didn’t think anybody else he knew thought so, either. “Well, I’ll work hard anyway. I want this, Mom. I really do.” He closed the book, got up, and bent to kiss his mother good night. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I’m going to be a mage
. The thought settled in his brain as he headed down the hall toward his bedroom. In the back of his mind he was already doing the things Stone had showed him. Before he knew it he’d be casting spells, slinging magical energy, and never having to worry about anyone disrespecting him again. It was going to be great. He could get along with anybody for that kind of payoff.

CHAPTER THREE

Stone spent his next few evenings and the breaks between his Occult Studies courses preparing lessons for Ethan. He called Yarborough (making sure to conveniently “forget” about the time zone difference) to let him know he’d agreed to take the boy on, and Yarborough had been so grateful he hadn’t even complained about being roused from a sound sleep.

Sunday night he took Megan out to Emilio’s, a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant in Los Gatos they’d discovered a couple months ago. “What’s the occasion?” she asked while they dawdled over after-dinner drinks.

“Been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

She grinned. “You do that all the time. You must be feeling guilty about something else. I can always tell. Wait, don’t tell me—it’s your Little Brother, isn’t it? You’ve bonded, and you’re planning to adopt him.”

“You’ve found me out.” He finished his drink and set the glass down next to hers. “You’re half right, actually. It
is
about Ethan. I’m going to be working with him for a while. Doing some—tutoring to help him catch up with schoolwork he’s missed. Mostly in the afternoons, so you shouldn’t see much of him, but I figured I should warn you in case you drop by and find a strange young man hanging around my townhouse.”

She nodded. “Just as long as you haven’t found yourself—what do you Brits call it?—a bit on the side? I don’t share. Not even if he’s smoking hot and built like Brad Pitt.”

He chuckled. “I’m all yours, my dear. You’re already more than I can handle.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “So what’s he like, this kid? Sounds like he’s had some trouble.”

“He’s a bit adrift, I think. His mum fell ill rather suddenly, so not only is he dealing with all that, but all his plans got buggered up, and he’s had to scramble to figure out what he wants to do with himself.”

“I take it his dad’s out of the picture?”

“Died when he was a child.”

“Poor kid. Well, I hope you can do something for him. Let me know if there’s any way I can help out with anything.”

He grinned wickedly. “Well—I think I can handle his stress. Think you can handle mine?”

“How about we go back to your place and find out?”

Ethan was waiting on the doorstep of Stone’s townhouse when he pulled his black Jaguar into the garage Monday afternoon. “How long have you been here?” Stone asked as he came around to let him in.

Ethan shrugged. “Not too long.” He wore jeans and a Cyberpope T-shirt, and carried a backpack slung over one shoulder. “I wasn’t sure how hard it would be to find the place. Mom’s letting me use the car since she doesn’t drive anymore.”

“Good, good.” Stone waved him in. Inside was a short hallway with a staircase on the left and rooms opening out on three sides. “Today we’ll get started in my study upstairs, since we won’t be doing any of the practical stuff that might get messy yet. Did you read that book I gave you?”

“Yeah.”

“And?” Stone asked, glancing back over his shoulder as he mounted the stairs.

“Kinda dry, but interesting, I guess. I didn’t know mages had been around for so long.”

Stone chuckled. “
Dry
is a good way to put it.
Bloody boring
is even better. I’ll be honest with you—the whole history end of the magic thing was never one of my favorite topics. I’m much more interested in the here and now—magical artifacts, rituals, spellcasting—
using
magic.” He pushed the door open. “Have a seat there on the couch.”

Ethan did as he was told, glancing with interest at the large, old-fashioned wheeled blackboard wedged between an ancient leather chair and one of the walls of books. Nothing was currently written on it.

“So,” Stone said, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Before we get into anything too deeply, a few questions. How’s your mum, by the way?”

“Not so good.” Ethan sighed. “She almost had to go to the hospital this weekend, but Mrs. Hooper—that’s her nurse—was able to get her settled down.” He looked up at Stone, an odd light in his eyes. “Dr. Stone, can magic...heal people?”

“Ethan—” Pause, then softly: “No. Not the way you think. There are mages who can heal injuries, if they catch them soon enough. But we can’t do anything about disease.”

“So there’s no—like—alchemy? Magic potions?” It was clear he’d had this on his mind for some time. His tone clutched at anything he could grab.

Stone shook his head. “No, not really. Not the way you’re thinking, anyway. There are some of us who dabble in that sort of thing, but I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head who has anything approaching expertise nowadays. And even then, most magical concoctions are more for dealing with things like increased concentration and minor injuries. They wouldn’t work on something as serious as whatever your mum’s got.” He regarded the slump-shouldered boy for a moment, then added, “I’m sorry, Ethan.”

“No, it’s okay. I just—” He looked up, steeling his expression. “Let’s just get started, okay?”

“All right, let’s. I need to set you up with some more books to take home, so—” Glancing around the room, he directed one hand at one shelf and the other at another, gesturing as if conducting an unseen orchestra. One by one, three books sailed from their places, glided across the room, and settled neatly on the couch next to the wide-eyed Ethan. “There you go. The first one is an intro text—I’ll give you a bit of the intro today, but that’s more in depth. The second is theory. It won’t make much sense to you now, but just start familiarizing yourself with the concepts and terminology. And that third one there, the small one, is sort of an exercise book. Formulae and such. Lots of math. That one’s a stretch—if you’re feeling ambitious, read the theory book and the formulae in the exercises and see what you can come up with. I don’t expect much from you yet, but it’ll be nice to see what you do with it.”

Ethan seemed to only have heard about a third of what Stone had said. “I still can’t quite believe I’m…gonna learn to do that,” he said in a hushed tone, waving his hand around to indicate the path the books had taken.

Stone grinned. “That and a lot more, if you listen to me and keep up with your studies. But I’ll reiterate: we aren’t going too fast in the beginning. I want you to have a good grounding in theory before you start doing the more interesting bits. It’s sort of like learning to play sport: you have to build up your muscles before you get started, or you’ll hurt yourself and set back your progress. You might learn faster from another teacher—a lot of them are rather slapdash nowadays, sad to say—but you won’t learn more thoroughly. So be patient. This is a journey, not a destination. Got it?”

“Yeah.” He glanced up. “I don’t have to call you ‘sir’ or anything, do I?”

“You do, and I
will
turn you into a frog,” Stone said. “Now, then. Sit back, stop thinking about levitating young ladies’ skirts up, and start listening.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You will.” Perching back on the edge of his desk, he asked, “So—do you know what the difference is between black magic and white magic?”

“I—uh—White magic is good, and black magic is evil, right?”

“Sort of. Though ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are pretty simplistic terms when it comes to magic. It’s entirely possible to do ‘good’ things with black magic, and ‘evil’ things with white magic.”

“It is?” Ethan was clearly confused.

“Very much so. This is an important distinction—probably one of the most important you’ll learn.” Almost unconsciously, he got up and began pacing around the room. “The difference between the two is how they’re powered. Tell me: if you wanted to zap someone with a lightning bolt, would you use black or white magic?”

“I’m gonna get to zap people with lightning bolts?”

“Stay focused,” Stone ordered. “Answer the question.”

“Uh—black magic, I guess.”

“Wrong answer. It was a trick question. You can zap someone with a lightning bolt using either type.”

“So—I’ll be able to do both?”

“You will—but you won’t want to. Not for long. Not unless you want to give yourself over to black magic in fairly short order, in which case tell me now so we can call this whole thing off before we get too far in.”

“Why won’t I want to?”

“Because,” Stone said, walking over to lean on his desk, “White magic is powered with your own energies, and with specially designed items that you construct to contain and store those energies. At its best, it’s more subtle than black magic, more permanent, and much more powerful in most areas. If you want to build a magical portal, or put a permanent enchantment on a place or a person, you’d use white magic.”

Ethan nodded, taking it in. “Should I be taking notes or something?”

“Not yet. I’ll drill this bit into your head so much that you won’t be able to forget it. This is fundamental stuff.”

“Okay, so—what about black magic?”

“Black magic is powered by the energy from others. It’s ultimately a very selfish, very visceral form of magic. Its power lies mostly in more transient sorts of spells, like those you would cast in a magical battle.”

“But—wouldn’t I want to—”

“Get into a magical battle?” Stone raised an eyebrow. “So—when was the last time you were in a physical fight?”

Ethan shrugged. “It’s been a while,” he mumbled. “And I didn’t start ’em.”

“Precisely. Ever shot someone with a gun? Stabbed anyone?”

“No!” He sounded shocked.

Stone nodded. “Well, there you go, then. Magic is
dangerous,
especially the kind designed to injure living things. You know how when you start to learn martial arts, they tell you all that rubbish about your body becoming a lethal weapon? That you should only use it in self-defense? Well, with magic, it’s true. And it’s damned important that you realize it as soon as possible. I’m not going to teach you those kinds of spells—not anytime soon, anyway. Certainly not during the first couple of years of your apprenticeship. By then you might well be back with Walter, and it’ll be up to him to decide whether he wants to. If you come along well in your studies, I
might
end up showing you something nonlethal that you can use to defend yourself should the need arise. But the point is, magic isn’t about hurting people. Not for white mages.”

“So, you’re a white mage, then?”

“I’m—sort of pale gray. It’s hard to actually practice magic and stay completely white. But that’s the other thing you’re going to need to know—black magic is addictive. It’s like smoking, or drugs, or liquor: the more you use it, the more you want to. I’ll tell you right up front that black magic feels
good
to cast. There’s a rush to it. But the problem is, you get to where you need more and more of that rush to get the same feeling. And every time you use others to gain power, you—” he cast about for the right words, “—well, ‘corrupt your soul’ isn’t quite right, but you get the idea. You make it so it’s harder and harder to do white magic, and eventually you can’t do it at all.” He fixed his gaze on Ethan. “So, I’m telling you right now—don’t let yourself be tempted. That’s why we’re taking this slow. Unless you plan on making a career as a serial killer, everything you should want to do with magic, you’ll be able to do with the white variety. Understood?”

“Yeah. Except the part about—what did you mean when you said that you ‘power white magic with your own energy, and black magic with others’? How does that work?”

“Just like it sounds. Think of it this way: white magic is like running a race. When you’re done you’re tired, but you’ve accomplished something on your own. Black magic is like having someone carry you on their back and run the race for you. You still get the same result, but instead of you getting tired, the other person does.”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “So you mean—you
literally
take power from other people? Like—you drain their energy?” He shuddered. “That sounds like something out of a horror movie.”

“And it is, essentially,” Stone agreed. “Some black mages have hangers-on that agree to supply them with power in exchange for—well, whatever. Money, influence, sex, whatever they want. Those mages are at what I call the ‘dark gray’ end of the spectrum. As long as they don’t do any permanent harm to their ‘batteries’ and the fools are willing, then there’s really not much that can be said about it.”

“That’s—disgusting.” Ethan leaned forward on the couch, staring at Stone. “People actually
let
them do that? Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It tires them out for a while—how much depends on how powerful the spell is. Sometimes it kills them, if the mage loses control. That doesn’t happen often with willing participants, but I’ve heard of cases where it did.”

“And so, white mages do this to themselves? So you get tired when you cast spells? That doesn’t seem very useful, either.”

“White magic isn’t really designed for casting quick harsh spells. We focus more on longer-term things, rituals, permanent enchantments, that sort of thing. But we can do it if we need to. And if we know ahead of time that we might need to, we can build items that will help take up some of the heavy lifting. But if you’re caught unawares, yes, you’ll have to watch yourself and make every spell count, because you won’t be able to cast many before you exhaust yourself.” Stone pushed himself off the desk. “But look at you—your eyes are glazing over. Don’t hesitate to tell me that I’m boring the socks off you. I’ve been told that I love the sound of my own voice, and I can’t really put up much of a defense.”