The Pagan Stone

The road behind him was dark and fogged with rain when he closed his fingers on the handle of the door.

IN THE LIVING ROOM, GAGE AND CYBIL SAT ON THE floor, facing each other. And facing each other, reached out to clasp hands. “I think we should try focusing on the three of you,” she said to Gage, “and the bloodstone. It came to the three of you. So we could start there. The three of you, then the stone.”

“Worth a shot. Ready?”

She nodded, leveled her breathing as he did. He came first to her mind. The man, the potential. She focused on what she saw in him as much as his face, his eyes, his hands. And moved on to Cal, putting him shoulder-to-shoulder with Gage inside her head. The physical Cal, and what she considered the spiritual Cal, before pulling Fox into her head.

Brothers, she thought. Blood brothers. Men who stood for each other, believed in each other, loved each other.

The drumming of the rain increased. It all but roared in her ears. A dark road, the splatting rain. A swath of lights turning the wet pavement to black glass. Two men stood in the rain on the black glass of the pavement. For a flash, she saw Fox’s face clearly, just as she saw the gun glistening as it pointed at him.

Then she was falling, cut loose so that her breath gasped in and out, so that she fumbled for a moment for the support that wrenched away. She heard Gage’s voice dimly.

“It’s Fox. He’s in trouble. Let’s go.”

Dizzy, Cybil pushed to her knees as Layla rushed toward Gage, grabbed his arm. “Where? What’s happening? I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not. Let’s move!”

“He’s right. Let them go. Let them go now.” Flailing out with a hand, Cybil gripped Layla’s. “I don’t know how much time there is.”

“I can find him. I can find him.” Clutching Cybil’s hand, and now Qui

FOX HUNCHED AGAINST THE RAIN AND LIFTED the hood of the truck. He knew how to build things. Ask him to make a table, stud out a wall, no problem. Engines? Not so much. Basic stuff, sure-change the oil, jump the battery, go wild and replace a fan belt.

As he stood in the rain with headlights approaching, the basic stuff, and his own gift, was all he needed to assess the situation. Getting out of it in one piece? That might not be as simple.

He could run, he supposed. But it just wasn’t in him. Fox shifted, angled his body, and watched Derrick Napper swagger toward him through the rain.

“Got trouble, don’t you?”

“Looks like.” Fox didn’t see the gun Napper held in the hand he kept down at his side so much as he sensed it. “How much sugar did it take?”

“Not as stupid as you look.” Now Napper raised the gun. “We’re going to take a little walk back into the woods here, O’Dell. We’re going to have a talk about you getting me fired.”

Fox didn’t look at the gun but kept his gaze level on Napper’s “I got you fired? I thought you pulled that one off all by yourself.”

“You don’t have your slut of a mother, or your two faggot friends around to protect you now, do you? Now you’re going to find out what happens to people who fuck with me, like you’ve been fucking with me my whole life.”

“You really see it that way?” Fox spoke almost conversationally. He changed his stance slightly, planting his feet. “I was fucking with you every time you jumped me on the playground when we were kids? When you ambushed me in the parking lot of the bank? Fu

“You’re going to wish I only beat down on you by the time I’m done.”

“Put the gun down and walk away, Napper. I’d say I don’t want to hurt you, but what’s the point in lying? Put it down and walk away while you can.”

“While I can?” Napper pressed the gun to Fox’s chest and pushed him back a step. “You really are stupid. You’re going to hurt me, is that what you think?” His voice rose to a shout. “Who’s got the gun, asshole?”

Watching Napper’s eyes, Fox swung up the baseball bat he’d held behind his back. He felt it crack against bone, just as he felt the vicious punch of the bullet in his arm. The gun skittered off into the wet dark. “Nobody. Asshole.” Fox swung again for insurance, this time plowing the bat into Napper’s belly. And holding it like a batter preparing to swing for the fences, he looked down at the man sprawled at his feet. “Pretty sure I broke your arm. I bet that hurts.”

He glanced up briefly as another set of headlights cut through the rain. “I told you to walk away.” Crouching, he jerked Napper’s head up by the hair, stared into the pasty white face. “Was it worth it?” Fox demanded. “Jesus, was it ever worth it?”

He let Napper go, rose to wait for his friends.

They came out of Gage’s car fast-like bullets, Fox thought, since bullets were on his mind. “Thanks for coming. One of you needs to call Hawbaker. I can’t get cell service right here.”

Cal sca

“You’re bleeding,” Gage commented.

“Yeah. The gun went off when I broke his arm. The bullet went right through the meat. Hurts like a mother.” He stared down at Napper, who sat wheezing on the wet pavement. “His arm’s going to hurt a lot longer. Don’t touch that,” he added as Gage bent to pick up the gun. “Let’s not screw up the evidence by getting your fingerprints on his weapon.”

Fox yanked out his banda

“Walk on down with Cal.”

Gage’s flat, frigid tone had Fox’s head jerking back up, and his eyes met Gage’s. He shook his head. “No. No reason for that, Gage.”

“He shot you. And you know damn well he meant to kill you.”

“He meant to. He wanted to. You know, I’ve been carrying this bat around in the truck ever since you and Cybil had that preview of me lying on the side of the road. I’m a lucky guy.” He laid a hand on his arm, grimaced at the smear of red he took away. “Mostly. We’re going to do this straight, according to the law.”

“He doesn’t give a damn about the law.”

“We’re not like him.”

Cal walked back to them. “The chief’s on his way. I called the house, too. Layla knows you’re okay.”

“Thanks.” Fox cradled his injured arm. “So, did either of you catch any of the game? O’s in New York?”

They stood in the rain, waiting for the cops, and talked baseball.

LAYLA STREAKED OUT OF THE HOUSE, LAUNCHING herself at Fox as he levered himself out of the car he, Cal, and Gage had squeezed into. As Cybil and Qui

“But what happened? What-You’re all soaked.” Qui

“All but this one thing,” Cybil interrupted. “Where is he? Where is that son of a bitch?”

“In police custody.” With his arm snug around Layla, Fox climbed the steps to the deck. “Getting his broken arm treated and being booked on a nice variety of charges. Christ, I want a beer.”

A short time later, dry, a beer in hand, Fox filled them in. “At first I was just irritated, started to get out of the truck, pop the hood. Then I remembered what Gage and Cybil had seen, which is why I had my trusty Louisville Slugger under the seat.”

“Thank God,” Layla breathed, then turned her head to press her lips to his healed arm.

“I had nearly a full tank, and I’d had the truck tuned up a couple weeks ago, so I focused on the engine.”