Spell Blind - eARC

by DAVID B. COE

  She shook her head. “No, I want to meet your father.”

  That was the last thing I’d expected her to say. “My father? Billie, that’s * * * I usually go to his place on Tuesdays.”

  “So this week you’ll see him twice.”

  I let out a breathless laugh, shook my head, frowned. Boy, she’d caught me off guard. It had been years since I’d taken anyone out to my dad’s place. Kona had come with me once, several years ago, and that had gone well. But still, taking Billie to meet him seemed * * * risky in some way.

  “What I told you last night was true,” I said. “He has these episodes. There’s no telling what state he’ll be in when we get there.”

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “Of course not,” I said without hesitation.

  She shrugged. “Then I’ll deal with it.”

  I didn’t know her very well, yet. But I could tell when she had made up her mind.

  “All right,” I said, getting out of the car. “I need to stop by my office first. Follow me?”

  We parked around the corner from the office and I led Billie inside.

  “Wow, Fearsson,” she said, turning a slow circle in the middle of the room. “I’m impressed.”

  Wood floors and a fancy coffee machine will do that, I guess.

  I keep a fresh set of clothes at the office, just in case. I grabbed these now, and changed in the bathroom. Then I checked the answering machine. I had only two calls—the first was from an insurance company I’d worked for the month before. I’d quit because they were trying to deny a claim I’d told them to pay. Now they were threatening legal action if I didn’t resume work on the case.

  I glanced at Billie, and she grimaced.

  “You get a lot of messages like that?” she asked.

  “Not too many,” I said. I erased that one and played the next.

  “Fearsson?” said a voice on the machine, sounding young and scared. “You there, dog? I know we said eleven, but * * * but we gotta do it sooner. I’m in trouble here, man. Real trouble. I’ll be at my place. Come as you soon as you can.”

  “Who was that?” Billie asked.

  “That was Antoine Mirdoux.”

  “Mirdoux,” she said, her forehead creasing. “You mentioned him to Kona. Isn’t he—?”

  “He’s dead. He was killed last night.”

  I checked the time on the message. It had come in right around the time I was talking to Kenny Moore in Robo’s. I wondered again if Antoine had been trying to set me up, if maybe Red had been trying to lure me into Mountain View and had only resorted to attacking me in the bar when that didn’t work. Had he killed Antoine because the kid had failed him? Had he been so angry after failing to kill me that he took it out on ‘Toine?

  “What’s going on in there, Fearsson?”

  “What?” I blinked. “In where?”

  She walked over and stopped in front of me. Then she tapped my temple gently with her index finger. “That head of yours. I can see it churning away.”

  I was about to tell her that it was nothing important, but that wasn’t true, and I’d had to lie to her too many times already. I didn’t want to now.

  “I’m wondering if Antoine is dead because of me, because I survived the attack at Robo’s.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. My mind’s muddled.” I almost said something about the phasing starting that night, but I stopped myself in time. “I’m working things out,” I told her instead.

  She nodded, then took my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Well,” she said. “Maybe you should do that somewhere else.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you’re right, then this guy is still after you, and I don’t want to be here when he tracks you down.”

  I planted my feet, forcing her to stop. “Aren’t you the one who accused me of being paranoid?”

  “Yes. But I was also the one who didn’t believe in magic.”

  “And you do now?”

  Billie gazed at me a moment. Then she dropped my hand and clapped three times.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Come on, Fearsson. ‘If you believe in magic, clap your hands’?” She shook her head. “Didn’t you ever see Peter Pan?”

  “A really long time ago.”

  “You’re hopeless.” She took my hand again and dragged me out the door.

  CHAPTER 19

  Against my better judgement, I drove her out to Wofford, wondering the whole way if my dad would be in the same state he was in the last time I visited, or maybe even worse. But as we drove up the dirt road to his trailer, I saw him sitting outside with a book in his hands. He spotted the Z-ster, stood, and waved, always a good sign.

  “He seems to be in good shape today,” I said.

  Billie answered with a vague nod. She was surveying the surroundings. Compared with the Desert National Monument, the area around Wofford was desolate country. A few stunted saguaros grew here and there, and my dad and I often saw hawks and coyotes on the low ridge behind his place. Truth was, I liked it here. It smelled like sage and a person could see for miles in every direction. But I could tell what she was thinking.

  “There’s nothing out here,” she said.

  “There’s more than you think.”

  She gave me a “sure, whatever you say,” look.

  I parked by the trailer and we got out. A breeze blew off the hills, and the heat, which had been stifling in the city, didn’t seem so bad up here.

  My dad was walking toward us, a big grin on his face. He’d shaved not too long ago, and his clothes were reasonably clean. His t-shirt was even tucked in. “Hello,” he said, a hand raised in greeting.

  “Hey, Dad. Sorry I didn’t call first.”

  He waved off the apology and took both of Billie’s hands in his. “Who’s this?” he asked. “And what in God’s name is she doing with you?” He’d always been a charmer.

  “Billie Castle, I’d like you to meet my father, Leander Fearsson. Dad, Billie Castle.”

  “It’s Lee,” he said guiding her to the chair next to his own. “Jay, get us some drinks.” He didn’t even spare me a glance. I had to smile. This was my dad at his best. We’d been lucky.

  I brought out three Cokes, and another chair for me.

  “A journalist?” my dad said, as I sat down. “Didn’t I warn you about dating people smarter than you?”

  I grinned. “Yeah, but that didn’t leave me too many options.”

  Billie laughed.

  “Justis,” Dad said, his tone stern. “What about rule eleven?”

  I shrugged. “Kinda broke that one. But you’ve met her. Can you blame me?”

  “What the hell is rule eleven?” Billie demanded, eyeing both of us.

  “My father taught me a lot about being a cop. And he had ten basic rules. Things like, always stick by your partner—”

  “That’s rule one,” he said.

  “—Right. And never lend your firearm to anyone, when in doubt call for backup, things like that. Common sense stuff, really.” I smiled. “Rule eleven is never become emotionally involved with a member of the press.”

  “Gets in the way of an investigation,” Dad told her. “And more often than not the investigation gets it the way of the relationship. It’s just a bad idea.” His eyes twinkled. “Most of the time.

  “But you’re not a cop anymore,” Billie said to me.

  My dad shook his head. “Rules don’t change that much for PIs.”

  “You must have been very proud when your son joined the force.”

  “I’m proud of him now, too.”

  The blood drained from Billie’s face. “Of course you are,” she said. “I didn’t mean * * *”

  She looked to me for help, but Dad leaned over and patted her hand.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I know what you meant. I was proud, though Justis and I weren’t as close back then. But in a way I think he’s
better off now, working on his own. It wears on you being a cop.” He grinned and gave a nod in my direction. “He got to see Randolph Deegan’s house, you know. That might not have happened if he’d still been on the job.”

  Billie nodded and smiled in my direction, but I kept my eyes on my old man.

  “What?” he said, staring right back at me. “You told me about Deegan when you were here last time.”

  “I didn’t think you heard,” I said, my voice low.

  He lifted his binoculars to check out a hawk circling near the road. “I hear everything,” he said, his voice matching mine. “I sometimes take a while to process it, you know?”

  “Yeah, Pop. I know.”

  “Red-tail,” he said, sounding bored as he lowered the binoculars. “So, Billie, where are you from?”

  They started talking, and I sat there and listened. It was more of an interrogation than it was a conversation, but my dad was like that with new people, and Billie seemed to understand. She kept her answers bland—nothing about her father’s drinking or her eagerness to leave home. But they got on fine. At one point I retreated into the trailer to get another round of Cokes, but the questioning was still going on when I came back out. Billie was a good sport.

  By late in the afternoon, as Billie and I were getting ready to drive back to the city, my dad’s spirits were as high as I’d seen them in years.

  Billie insisted on cleaning my dad’s kitchen before we left. He’d been as insistent about making us sandwiches for lunch—like a proper host, he said—and he’d left quite a mess.

  “I like Billie a lot,” he told me, when we were alone outside.

  “Thanks. So do I.”

  “Don’t mess it up.”

  I laughed. “You’re the second person who’s said that to me today. Am I really that bad?”

  He regarded me, grim-faced. “You’re no worse than I was,” he said. “But I’m sure you’re not much better, either. You know what I’m saying?”

  It had been twenty years since we’d had a conversation about phasings. But that’s what he was talking about. I wondered what full moons were like for him now, with his mind as fragile as it was.

  “Yeah, I do,” I said. “But I’m not sure that I have much choice.”

  “I always thought the same thing. Magic seemed so important back then. More important than being * * * whole.”

  “You think you were wrong to feel that way?” I asked.

  He ran a hand over his face. Then pushed both hands through his white hair. “I don’t know. Your mother thought so.” He stared off to the west, so that the late afternoon sun shone on his face, making his tanned skin appear bronzed, the way I remember it from when I was a kid. “I’m just saying you’ve got a good thing here. Take care of it as best you can.”

  He turned to me, and our eyes met.

  I nodded. “All right.”

  Billie stepped out of the trailer, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Well, your kitchen looks a little better, Lee. I’d love to have a couple of hours with it, give it some semblance of organization, but that’ll have to wait for my next visit.” She smiled and slung the towel over my dad’s shoulder.

  “You’re welcome any time, Billie.”

  She kissed his cheek. “Thanks.”

  I gave him a hug and kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks. I’ll be out again soon.”

  “Well, don’t come alone.” He winked at Billie.

  “No, sir.”

  We got in the car and drove away, raising a plume of dust that billowed like red smoke in the angled sunlight. I could still see him waving from beside the trailer when we turned onto the road toward Wofford.

  “Thank you,” Billie said softly.

  “For what? I think I should be thanking you.”

  She shook her head. “You didn’t know what you’d find out here today. I know what that’s like. I remember in high school, coming home from work or from a date, and seeing the lights on in my parents’ house. It was the same way. I didn’t know if that meant that my mom was up reading, or that my dad was on a bender. There were nights when I’d stay out. I’d walk around the block until the lights went out. If they weren’t out by midnight, that usually meant that it was my dad, and I’d go to a friend’s house down the street.” She ran a hand through her hair. “So, anyway, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you suggested it. Days like this are pretty rare.”

  We drove in silence for a while. Then she shifted in her seat so that she was facing me.

  “Would you like to have dinner?” she asked. “Just something quiet at my place?”

  I glanced at her, and she smiled. Before I knew it, my heart was pounding. I tore my gaze from hers, set it back on the road. She was talking about dinner, but really she was inviting me to spend the night. We both knew it.

  “That sounds very nice,” I said, a catch in my voice.

  She heard it, too. “But?”

  “But tonight’s no good. I’m supposed to meet Kona at my place after she’s off. And then * * * then I have some work I have to do.” Lies again. But was this the moment to say, Can’t, I’m going to be temporarily insane starting at sundown?

  “Kona,” Billie said, watching the road again. “Were you and she ever * * * ?”

  “No. Kona’s tastes run in a different direction.”

  “In terms of race?”

  “In terms of gender.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh!”

  “Can I take a rain check on dinner?”

  She nodded and smiled again. “Of course.”

  We reached the city after the worst of the end-of-work traffic was over. I parked near my office and walked her to her car. I only had another hour and a half before the sun went down and the moon rose. I could already feel myself growing confused. I’d very nearly pulled into the parking space diagonally instead of pulling in along the curb.

  I started to say something—I’m not even sure what. But before I could get the words out, she was kissing me. Not like the kisses we’d shared before. This one was deep and passionate, and it made me forget all about Kona and Red and just about everything else. I’m not sure I could have remembered my name for a moment there.

  She pulled away after a while, and smiled at me, her eyes still closed, her arms around my neck. “You sure about dinner, Fearsson?”

  Fearsson. That was it.

  “‘Fraid so.”

  We kissed again.

  “Shame,” she whispered. “This has been a really nice day.” She opened her eyes. “I seem to say that to you a lot.”

  “It seems that way. Except when I’m writhing in agony on the floor of a bar, or getting myself thrown in jail * * *”

  “It’s been an interesting week.” She got in her car. “Call me. Soon.”

  “I will.”

  I watched her drive away, then got back in the Z-ster and drove home. I tried to think about that kiss, the feeling of her lips on mine, her body pressed against me. But thoughts of the phasing kept intruding. The first night was never any worse than the others, but it was no better, either. And I was dreading this phasing more than usual, maybe because it meant that I wouldn’t be able to see Billie for three evenings.

  I parked in the driveway and managed to remember to collect my mail. But I was feeling more and more addled as I walked up the path to my front door, which may be why I dropped my keys before I could put them in the lock. Whatever the reason, that moment of clumsiness saved my life.

  As I bent to pick up the keys I saw a faint gleam of red light seeping through the small space at the base of the door. I straightened and stumbled back a couple of steps, my heart pounding again, though in an entirely different way.

  For a split second I thought that it was him, that Red was in my house. But then I realized he wouldn’t be glowing like that. This was his work all right, but it was sorcery; I assumed it was a magical tripwire of some sort. A skilled weremyste, someone far more adept than I, could conjure a
secondary spell, something that would work like a booby trap. I’d open the door, tripping one spell that would then activate the primary magic. Sophisticated stuff, but I had no doubt Red could handle it with ease. The question was, how could I get into my house without getting myself killed. The sun was setting, the moon was pulling hard at my mind, and I didn’t want to be on the streets or with other people when the phasing began in earnest.

  I walked to one of the windows and peered inside. Red magic shimmered like fresh blood along the walls, window frames, and doors. He’d managed to mute the glow somewhat, but now that I was aware of the spells, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed them before I did.

  From what I saw, I could only assume that the windows and back door weren’t any safer than the front. There was nothing I could do from outside the house. Once inside, I could cover Red’s magic with a warding of my own and then trip the spell, to whatever effect. But out here on my tiny lawn, I couldn’t see all of his magic, and so didn’t know where to place my wardings.

  I could think of just one way to get inside: a transporting spell. I had only worked on transporting magic once before, the other day with Namid when I was trying to learn the spell my dad invented. I thought I could pull it off, though. The problem was I didn’t know for certain what would trigger the red sorcerer’s spell. If it was the opening of a door or window, I’d be fine. If it was mere motion on the other hand, my transporting spell would be the last thing I ever did. I’d transport myself to the living room, and—boom!—no more Fearsson.

  I thought about calling on Namid again, but he’d made it clear that he couldn’t intervene on my behalf anymore. This time I was on my own. And the sky was darkening.

  “What the hell,” I muttered.

  Three elements: outside in the yard, where I was now; the living room, where I wanted to be; and me. I closed my eyes chanting the words in my head, not caring that if anyone was watching me when I did this, it would seem to them that I’d vanished. After a minute or so, I felt a sudden wave of dizziness and a rush of cold, as if a winter wind had kicked up.

  I opened my eyes and found myself in the living room, surrounded by glimmering red magic. With all that I’d seen of Red’s conjuring in the last couple of days, I was going to be seeing this color in my sleep. That is, if I survived the night.