by DAVID B. COE
“I do get help,” I said, cringing at yet another lie, or at least the shadow of one. “Not from a psychologist, but from someone who teaches me magic and helps me through the full moons.”
“That’s not the same, and you know it.” She started toward her car again. “You lied to me, Fearsson,” she said over her shoulder. “Or was that some kind of magical lie, so it doesn’t count?”
“I told you that the problem never goes away, that I’d learned to control it, to live with it, and that’s the truth.”
She had nearly reached her car, but she stopped once more and spun toward me. There were tears on her face, though she didn’t bother to wipe them away. She might not have known they were there. “You have problems. They cost you your job. And they’re still affecting you. You can call them anything you want. You can pretend that you’re facing them. But the truth is they haven’t gone away, and you haven’t learned to control them. That’s why you couldn’t talk to me last night.” She shook her head and started to turn back to her car.
I stepped in front of her. “Billie, please. Let me try to explain this to you. If after I’m done, you still want to leave, then fine. I’ll never call you again.”
“I can’t, Fearsson,” she said, crying now. “I just can’t. Let’s say I believe you. Let’s say I accept that the whole magic thing is something more than an excuse not to confront your problems. I still can’t live with it. I grew up with an alcoholic. His sickness was everywhere. I’d hear it at night when he was yelling at my mom, or hitting her again. I’d see it in the morning, when I had to clean up the empty glasses and bottles, because he was sleeping it off, and my mom was so scared of waking him that she couldn’t bring herself to move, much less take care of his mess. I’d smell it in the afternoon when I got home from school and found him slumped in front of the television with whiskey on his breath. It was all over and I nearly drowned in it.
“Dad always denied he had a problem, and Mom let him. They spent their entire marriage living a lie, and they nearly dragged me down with them. I know that mental illness is treatable, and I know that people who have problems like yours can lead healthy, normal lives. But first they have to face their problems head on and get help. You won’t do that. You’re standing there in front of me telling me that it’s all right, and clearly it’s not.” She shook her head. “I can’t live that way. I’m sorry.”
She started away once more, and I let her go. What choice did I have? I couldn’t even be mad at her. She was doing the right thing, the thing my mom probably should have done years before I was born. The thing that might have saved her life. I watched Billie get into her little blue Honda and drive off. Then I went back into the house.
CHAPTER 22
“She is unhappy with you,” Namid said, as I closed the door behind me.
“It doesn’t matter,” I told him, my chest aching. “Like you said, she was a distraction. I have more important things to deal with today.”
He gave that little shrug again, and I had to fight an urge to smack him. Not that it would have done any damage.
“You are still determined to go after Cahors?”
“Yes.”
I retrieved my shoulder holster from the chair on which it still hung and started to strap it on. Thinking better of it, I pulled an ankle holster from my closet and strapped it on instead. I’d hide my weapon there, under my pants leg. Maybe that would confuse Cahors for all of two seconds. The magazine from my weapon still sat on the table; I slipped it into my jeans pocket.
I tried to think of anything else I might want to have with me, but really all I needed was the Glock. I strode to the door and pulled it open.
“Do you want me to stop shielding you now?” Namid asked.
“Not yet. I need my weapon first. I’ll call for you when I have it.”
The myste frowned but nodded. I left him there.
It was Saturday and the drive to Kona and Margarite’s place in Mesa took far less time than it would have during the week. When I reached their house, Kona was sitting outside on the front steps. The door to the house was shut. My weapon rested on the cement beside her.
She watched me as I approached, her expression flat, her eyes boring into mine.
“This is a bad idea.”
I halted a few paces short of the steps. “Give me a better one, and I’ll take it.”
Her gaze dipped to the stone path at my feet. “I shouldn’t give you your weapon. Maybe if you don’t have it you’ll be forced to reconsider. I should lock it away inside.”
“We both know you’re not going to do that.”
She looked up at me again. “If you could just—”
“Please don’t, Kona. I’ve been through this with Namid, and I’ve wrestled with it myself. More people are going to die. He’ll keep killing for as long as he wants to live, which is forever. So I have to stop him, or at least make the attempt. I’m not going to convince you, and I don’t have time to try. But I can do this. And even if I can’t, it’s my weapon, my life, my choice.”
The muscles in her jaw bunched. “Then go ahead and take it.”
“I’d rather you gave it to me.”
She turned away once more, her dark eyes welling. A tear slipped down her cheek and fell to the step, darkening the cement. “Damn you,” she said in a whisper. But she reached for the weapon and held it out to me, her hand steady. She wouldn’t look at me.
“Thank you,” I said, taking it. I pulled the magazine from my pocket, slid it home, chambered the first round, and strapped the weapon into my ankle holster. Still Kona kept her gaze averted, tears on her cheeks.
“I have to go.”
She nodded, the motion jerky.
I wanted to say more, but no words came to me. At last I turned and walked back toward my car. Halfway there, I halted and faced her again.
“The guy’s name is Etienne de Cahors,” I said. “He’s basically the reincarnated ghost of a druid from medieval France. Q can give you a description. You might need it.”
“Justis—”
“Take care of yourself, partner. Give Margarite a kiss for me. I was kind of short with her on the phone earlier.”
“Justis!”
I wanted to leave, but she deserved better. “What?”
“Where are you going?”
I shook my head. “I’m not telling you that.” I returned to the car, got in, and drove away. Only when I was sure that Kona couldn’t see or hear the Z-ster anymore did I steer toward South Mountain Park.
“Namid,” I said aloud as I drove.
An instant later the myste was beside me in the passenger seat, his waters roiled.
“You have your weapon now?”
“I do. You can stop shielding me.”
“You are certain?”
No. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Namid, and an excellent teacher. I’m grateful to you.”
“You have learned much, Ohanko. I do not know if it is enough to defeat Cahors, but you are a formidable runecrafter. Remember that when you face him.”
I nodded. “Stop shielding.”
There was no flash of light, no weight lifted from my mind or my body. I had to take it on faith that the myste had done as I asked. He stared at me for a few moments more before fading from view and leaving me feeling more alone than I could remember. First Billie, then Kona, and now Namid. My chest tightened at the thought of my Dad. I should have found a way to say goodbye to him, too. But that was more than I could handle right now. I knew that if I didn’t survive the day, Kona would take care of him.
I kept to side roads and avoided the interstates. This was the safer route—if I was on the freeway when Cahors came after me there would be no telling how many people might die. But this way was also slower. Too many intersections; too many traffic lights. I checked my mirrors every few seconds, expecting to see Red pull up behind me, wondering what kind of car the ghost of a Gaulish druid would drive.
I managed to reach the
park before he found me, and wasted no time starting up the trail back to the spot where Claudia Deegan’s body had been found. Cahors knew the area, but so did I. There might be a few hikers on the trail, but that couldn’t be helped. At least I wouldn’t be at a supermarket when he found me. I might not be able to keep him from killing me, but I could keep him from taking out a bunch of other people, too.
The hike took me less than half an hour. I was winded and sweating when I glimpsed the yellow police tape and slowed. I’d seen a few people early on, but none in the last fifteen minutes. I was alone, except for Cahors, who I sensed was nearby. I sat on a rock and cleared myself, expecting at any moment to see him materialize right in front of me.
When after several minutes he still hadn’t appeared, I started to grow antsy.
“Show yourself!” I called, my voice echoing off the hills around me. “You’ve been after me for days!
“Days . . . days . . . days . . .
“Well, I’m right here . . . !
“Here . . . here . . . here . . .
“. . . Waiting for you!
“You . . . you . . . you . . .”
Nothing.
I bent down and pulled out my weapon, and then left the trail for the thicket beyond the spot where Claudia had been found. If Red was approaching on foot, maybe I could surprise him.
That was the plan anyway.
I felt him strongly now; I knew he was getting close. And he must have felt me, too, because before I saw or heard him, he attacked.
He went for my heart again, and despite what Namid had told me, despite having cleared myself, I couldn’t do anything to stop him. One moment I was crouched in that small thicket, my Glock in hand, and the next I was on the ground in agony, my shoulders hunched, my knees drawn up. It felt as though he had ripped open my chest and poured lava over my heart. I couldn’t breathe; I was blind, deaf, utterly senseless. There was nothing but me and the pain.
And then his voice.
“You dared call for me?” he said, the words echoing inside my head the way my challenge to him had reverberated off those desert hills. “You believe yourself my equal now, eh? You think you can stand against me? Tu es un enfant. Tu n’es rien.”
It shouldn’t have been this easy for him. I should have at least put up a fight before dying. But the words for a spell wouldn’t come. My pistol couldn’t have been more than a foot or two away from my hand, but it might as well have been on Mars.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, his assault stopped. I was aware once more of lying on the ground, dried palo verde leaves in my hair, sand and twigs pressed into the skin of my arms and face. I took a long breath, savoring the absence of pain, bracing myself for its return.
“Come here.”
He spoke the words this time, and I felt their power. He was on the path, near where I’d been standing when I called for him. I lifted my head and saw him there. I meant to reach for my weapon. I meant to throw some sort of assailing spell at him. But before I knew what I was doing, I’d gotten to my feet and started toward him. He was controlling me again, his magic pressing down on me. What had Namid said? I would reach into his mind and crush his will. That’s what Cahors was doing to me, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
I walked out from beneath the trees and into the bright sunlight. I couldn’t even lift a hand to shield my eyes.
Cahors was grinning at me, no doubt reading my thoughts, relishing my helplessness.
“Stop there.”
I halted a few feet from where he stood, my body swaying like a sapling in the wind. A fine sheen of sweat shone on his head and face, but otherwise he appeared unaffected by his hike. He wore black pants and shoes, and a long-sleeve, white, collarless shirt buttoned to the neck. He had to be burning up, but he looked perfectly comfortable. His skin was ghostly pale, a match for his eyes.
He remained still, except for his eyes, which appraised me in a single sweep from head to toe. A faint smile curved his thin lips; he didn’t seem too impressed by what he saw. An instant later, the magic was lifted from my mind.
“Well?” he said, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. “Here I am, little weremyste. Do your worst.” He laughed.
“Why did you kill them?” I asked.
He dropped his arms to his sides, the smile leaving his face gradually. “Are we not going to fight, you and I?”
“We will,” I said. “But first I want answers. Why have you been killing those kids”
“Surely, Namid has explained this to you.”
“I’m not sure he understands.”
That brought back the smile, as I knew it would. I was stalling for time, trying to think of how to kill this bastard. But I also wanted to know what he’d been doing. I’d been after the guy for three years; I wanted the truth before I died.
“All right then,” Cahors said. “I will answer this for you. And then you will answer a question for me.”
I was reminded of the drive out to the desert with Billie, but no sooner had the memory come, than I thrust it out of my mind.
“Sure, fine,” I said.
“I took power from them. Power to make myself free, power to give myself a body again, power to keep myself young.”
The first two I understood—he wanted to be free of the constraints put on runemystes, and he wanted to take corporeal form. But the last one . . .
“Power to keep yourself young?”
“Yes,” he said, sounding too pleased with himself. “When the Runeclave made us runemystes, they took our bodies from us, made us creatures of pure magic. In reclaiming my body, I reclaimed as well my mortality. I would have aged quickly—far more so than would be normal. My body is not from this time. But the magic I take from them—those children—it keeps me young. I will never age. I will never grow weak. I will never die.”
“You’re immortal,” I whispered, my mind reeling.
He merely smiled.
In the next instant, though, I realized that this wasn’t what he’d said. The murders were keeping him young. He wasn’t immortal, so much as he was dipping into a magical fountain of youth. As long as he kept killing, time couldn’t touch him. Which meant that, as long as he lived, the Blind Angel murders would never end.
“And now it is my turn,” he said. “Which of them is more dear to you?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, cold creeping down my neck like a single bead of sweat.
“The two women, the dark-skinned one, and the other, with the long hair. Which of them do you love more? For which of them would you give your life?”
Kona and Billie. He was asking me to choose between them.
“I’d die for both of them. And I’ll kill for both, too, you son of a bitch.”
His expression hardened, though the hint of a smile still played around the corners of his mouth. “Ah. Nous combattrons maintenant, oui? We fight now?”
I said nothing, but instead cast the first spell that came to mind. A fire spell: Cahors, the ground all around him, and flames. Three elements. But even as I cast, I realized that it was a poor choice. Too simple; too obvious. The fire never materialized. Cahors laughed at me.
“You can do better than that, little weremyste.”
Before I could say or do anything, I was lifted off my feet and slammed down on my back onto the rocky path. All the air rushed from my lungs, and for several seconds I was too stunned and in too much pain to move.
“I think we will play a little game, you and I,” Red said, walking a slow circle around me. “You will try magic on me and then, when your spell has failed, I will punish you. Each time, your punishment will get a bit worse. This sounds like fun, yes?”
I wasted no time trying again. A binding spell this time. It was supposed to immobilize him, as if I had bound him with rope. It didn’t.
Red shook his head. “Not very good, I am afraid.”
A rock about the size of my fist rose from the ground a few feet from me
, rushed at me and slammed into my temple. It hurt like hell, and for several seconds it seemed like tiny white lights were popping inside my eyes. I raised a hand to where the rock had hit me. My fingers came away wet with blood.
I didn’t know much assailing magic—I was still learning it from Namid. I tried a blade spell, because it was about all I had left. A knife, my hand, Red’s throat. This one failed, too. I braced myself, wondering what he’d do to me this time, still smarting from my last two “punishments.” I was already pretty tired of Cahors’s game.
But I wasn’t ready for this. The skin on my forearm blackened, then blistered, then appeared to melt. I couldn’t keep myself from howling as I cradled the arm to my stomach, trembling, my eyes squeezed shut.
“Perhaps you are ready to end our game, little weremyste?” he said, standing just behind me. “Are you ready to die now?”
“Not yet,” I said, breathing hard. “Not until I’ve kicked your ass.”
He laughed. “C’est bon! I can see why Namid likes you!”
Namid. Hearing his name gave me an idea. I cleared myself again, and visualized a swarm of watery hornets, their tiny clear stingers, and Red’s exposed neck and head.
As I’d hoped, Cahors didn’t know this one. He started flailing his arms and ducking his head, all the time backing away. I forced myself to my feet and ran back toward the thicket to retrieve my weapon.
I was halfway there when he called, “Stop!”
His magic fell on me like a hammer, staggering me, halting me in my tracks. He made me turn to face him.
“You should not have done that, little weremyste.”
There were welts on his head and face, and even a couple on his hands. His pale eyes blazed and his nostrils were flared. I knew that he wouldn’t bother with rocks and burns this time. He’d go straight for my heart.
I tried to ward myself the way Namid had told me, but Red had me under his control again. There was nothing I could do to stop it. My chest was aflame once more; even Cahors’ magic couldn’t keep me upright. The torment seemed to go on forever, until I became convinced that he intended to finish me without another word.
