Spell Blind - eARC

by DAVID B. COE

  “You look around, Brother J. Q’s got somethin’ now. Least, he did. House, store. Why would Q wanna mess that up by gettin’ involved with this Blind Angel dude? That’d just be dumb.”

  I rubbed a hand over my face. He was right.

  “Then why’d this guy come after you?”

  Orestes shrugged. I heard another siren in the distance, approaching fast.

  “That’ll be your ambulance.”

  “Q ain’t got money for an ambulance.”

  “You need to see a doctor. We’ll deal with the rest later.”

  He didn’t argue, and we listened to the changing pitch of the siren.

  “The other day when I came here, what made you think ‘Toine had something to do with this guy?” I asked him.

  “Q hears things,” he said, his eyes closed. “‘Toine was into all kinds of bad doin’s. Not just drugs. Word was he did some pimpin’. An’ word was your badass was after kids, ones who had trouble, you know?”

  Something clicked into place in my mind. Of all the things that Q could have told me about Antoine, that made the most sense. A guy like Red wouldn’t want to take a chance on finding a suitable victim on the night of the quarter moon. Not if he was planning some kind of magic that had specific demands. He would have wanted to have a target picked out ahead of time, and even being able to disguise himself, he would have stood out too much in the neighborhoods he needed to frequent to find the kids he wanted for the killing spells he’d been casting. ‘Toine could do that for him.

  But what, if anything, did Shari Bettancourt have in common with Antoine Mirdoux? Was she finding kids for him, too? Was that why she had that necklace? And even if she and ‘Toine were helping the guy identify possible victims, how had they found Claudia Deegan? I would have liked to go back to ’Toine’s house to search for something that resembled Shari’s pendant. But by now the place must have been crawling with cops.

  “What are you thinkin’ there, Brother J?” Q asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m playing catch-up. This guy’s been way ahead of me from the start, but I may have finally figured something out.”

  The siren wailed outside the house, then died away. I heard the rasp of a radio and then, a few seconds later, the slamming of the ambulance doors.

  “Hello?” a voice called.

  “Up here,” I shouted in return. “Stairs are in the back.”

  I could hear another set of sirens now. Probably the fire department.

  Two EMTs came up the stairs and hesitated as they took in the scene.

  “Man, what happened here?” one of them asked.

  My eyes met Q’s. “Stove blew,” I said after a few seconds.

  “How long this tourniquet been on?” the EMT asked me.

  “Since I called. But I released it once a few minutes ago.”

  He nodded. “Good deal.”

  I stood. “You’re going to be all right, Q. I’ll see you soon.”

  Orestes grabbed my hand. “Q won’t forget this, Jay. He mean it. From now on, if you need to know somethin’, Q will tell it, no charge, no shit.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.” To the EMTs I said, “You’re taking him to Samaritan?”

  “Yup.”

  I nodded, and winked at Q.

  He let my hand go, and I started down the stairs.

  “Wait a minute,” one of the guys said. “The stove’s electric.”

  I heard Q chuckle, low and deep.

  A crowd had gathered around Q’s house, and they eyed me as I walked past to my car.

  “What happened?” someone called to me.

  Another voice said, “Is Brother Q all right?”

  “He’ll be fine,” I answered and climbed into the Z-ster.

  I started her up, but then sat idling, watching as the crowd parted and the fire trucks pulled up. Something other than that glowing gibbous moon was tugging at my mind, trying to make me see what should have been obvious. The moon was clouding my thoughts, making me feel sluggish and stupid.

  “Think, Jay,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel.

  If ‘Toine was finding victims for the Blind Angel killer—and that was just a guess on my part—he couldn’t have been the only person doing so. I couldn’t imagine that Claudia Deegan and Antoine Mirdoux had ever crossed paths. Claudia wouldn’t have gone that far, no matter how much she might have wanted to rebel against her old man.

  And that’s when it hit me. Robby Sommer had been Claudia’s dealer.

  CHAPTER 17

  I’d been at Toine’s the third time I felt the sorcerer test my magic, and now the kid was dead. I’d been outside Robo’s the second time, and I’d nearly died there a couple of hours ago.

  The first time I’d felt the red sorcerer’s magic, I’d been at Robby’s house.

  I threw the Z-ster into gear and raced away from Q’s place, my tires screeching. It was a long drive back to Tempe from Maryvale, but by now the freeways were clear and I made good time.

  When I arrived, though, it seemed that I needn’t have bothered rushing.

  Robby’s place looked much the way it had the last time I saw it. There was no sign of the violence I’d seen at Orestes’s house or at Antoine’s. The door was still on its hinges, the windows were intact. There was a light on inside, which was a bit strange, given how late it was. But for all I knew, Robby was a night owl.

  I got out of the car and walked up to his door. I’d even gone so far as to raise my hand to knock before I noticed that the door was already unlatched, and that there was a small but brilliant flare of crimson magic on the knob and lock. Seeing this tiny bit of craft, I was reminded once more—as if I could have forgotten—of how powerful this red sorcerer was. The stronger the magician, the faster the traces of his sorcery fade from view. The magic at Q’s house had seemed bright, but compared with this, it was flat and dull. This magic, though, was as fresh as warm blood.

  Once more, I pulled out my pistol and prepared to push the door open. I knew he could use magic to deflect bullets, but I also knew that I didn’t have enough knowledge of assailing magic to hurt him. The Glock seemed my best bet.

  My hands were shaking and I was breathing hard. Back when I was on the force, I was no braver than any other cop. I was no more a coward either. You learn to accept fear as part of the job, to manage it and live with it. But right then, I was really scared; as scared as I had been in years. Just the thought of going up against this guy so soon after Robo’s made my chest ache. I tried to sense him and knew in an instant that he was near, though I wasn’t sure that meant “in the house.” I wasn’t sure it didn’t, either.

  I took a breath and kicked the door open.

  Robby was sprawled on the couch, his eyes open and fixed sightlessly on the ceiling. A bag of Spark lay beside him, his pipe sat on the coffee table in front of him. The television was on, but the sound was turned down low. Making as little noise as I could manage, I stepped through the living room and peeked around the corner into the kitchen. Nothing. Still holding my weapon, still expecting to be attacked at any moment, I followed a corridor toward the back of the house, edging along the wall. I reached a door, counted to three in my head, and kicked it open. It appeared to be a spare room. An electric guitar leaned against one wall, an amplifier beside it. A bike was propped against the closet door. Otherwise the room was empty. I checked the closet but found only a few cardboard boxes filled with books and junk. The bathroom was across the hall from this room. It was empty, too, as was Robby’s bedroom, which was all the way in the back.

  I exhaled, relieved. As much as I wanted to catch this guy, I didn’t want to face him tonight. I tucked my Glock into my belt against my back and returned to the living room.

  I checked Robby for a pulse, but I knew I wouldn’t find one. There was a small but bright red glimmering around his head and neck, but to anyone who couldn’t see magic he would appear unmarked.

  I’d had enough of this guy killing off my leads and hurting my frie
nds. I wasn’t crazy about him attacking me, either. But most of all, I resented the fact that he always seemed to be one step ahead of me.

  I reached for the phone to call the police yet again, but then I stopped myself. Robby wasn’t going anywhere, and it was possible that a quick search of the house might turn up something tangible that would connect Robby with ‘Toine and Shari.

  My first thought was to use the scrying stone, but I knew from ‘Toine’s place that it wouldn’t work here. Then something occurred to me. I pulled out the stone and fished in my jacket pocket for the evidence bag containing Claudia’s hair. I still had it with me. Whatever else this case might have done for me, it was making me an expert at seeing-spells.

  I chanted the spell to myself, and a moment later, there was Robby, sitting on the same couch he was lying on now. He was adjusting a scale, measuring out Spark for a sale.

  I told you this was good stuff, Claud, he said, his eyes fixed on the balance. It costs, too. So I gotta make sure that the bags are right, you know? I don’t wanna be giving away too much, and I sure don’t want someone coming back at me claiming that I shorted them.

  I wouldn’t do that.

  He glanced up at her and smiled. I know you wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t want to shortchange you, you know? You least of all.

  She didn’t answer and a moment later she started to glance through his DVD collection. I had the feeling she didn’t like the turn their conversation had taken.

  Just hurry it up, she said, her voice low.

  You still with that Tilo guy?

  Don’t, Robby. You and I are history, and I’d like to forget about it, all right?

  I’m just asking.

  You’re not just asking. You never just ask.

  He said nothing, and a moment later he turned his attention back to the scale. He fiddled with it for a few seconds. Then, with utmost care, he brushed the Spark he’d laid out into a bag and handed it to her. Check that out.

  For severals moment Claudia stared at it.

  Eyeing the stuff lying beside Robby’s body, I understood why. In all the years I’d worked narcotics I’d never seen Spark like this. The color was so deep, so rich, it reminded me of desert dirt, the kind you might see in Monument Valley or the Superstition Wilderness.

  Where did you get this? she asked.

  Usual place. My scalper said he’d found some great stuff, and, man, did he ever. I’ve tried it, he said, his eyes widening. It’s amazing. He nodded. You want some now? On the house? He was lying to her. Spark was a blocker—it wouldn’t have gotten Robby high; it might have made the phasing less intense, but he wouldn’t have gotten off on it. Of course, she wouldn’t have known this.

  I better not, she said. Thanks, though.

  She rolled up the bag and put it in her pack. Then she pulled out a wad of twenty dollar bills and handed it to Robby.

  There you go, she said. Three-sixty.

  Robby made a quick count and smiled at her. Thanks, Claud. Always a pleasure taking your money.

  I don’t like your new prices. I might have to start shopping elsewhere.

  You say that now, but after you try this stuff you won’t think twice about what it cost. I promise. Cleanest burn you ever had.

  At one-eighty a ‘g’ it better be. She swung her pack onto her shoulder, walked to the door and pulled it open. Later, Robby. Thanks.

  Close the door, Claud! You want the whole neighborhood to see what I got here?

  She laughed. Hey, everybody! she called, raising her voice. Check out Robby’s stuff!

  He jumped up, yanked her back into the house, and slammed the door.

  Claudia pulled her arm out of his grasp and rubbed it. Geez, Robby!

  Geez, yourself! You think that was funny?

  Yeah. It was just a joke.

  Robby shook his head. You’re unbelievable. That kind of shit might be funny for a Deegan, but for the rest of us, it’s not. In case you didn’t know, this stuff’s illegal. If I’m caught dealing again, I’ll probably get thrown in jail for the rest of my life.

  I know it’s illegal, she said, sounding sullen.

  Well, you don’t act like it. I guess you think Daddy will pull your ass out of the fire if anything happens, right?

  Fuck you, Robby!

  He seemed to deflate, and he twisted his mouth. Sorry, he said. That was outta line.

  Yeah, it was. She pulled the door open again, though not too widely this time. I gotta go.

  Right.

  Claudia left, closing the door behind her, and the image faded.

  So she had bought her drugs from Robby, and Sommer had been telling the truth about their relationship. He hadn’t mentioned, though, that she’d ticked him off the last time he saw her alive, and it seemed he’d lied to me about knowing the Blind Angel killer. I didn’t think it had been Robby’s intention to point out Claudia to Red. He cared about her too much. But I’d have bet every dollar in my pocket that the sorcerer had been watching Robby’s house, and had chosen her from a distance, without knowing who she was. That was the only way to explain why Claudia Deegan would have ended up a victim of the same murderer who’d killed Gracia Rosado, Maria Santana, and the others.

  I didn’t want to take too much more time here, but I wanted to search all the rooms before I dialed 911 yet again. Maybe Robby had a red stone, too. I started in the living room—a bit of a misnomer with a corpse in the middle of it, but I tried to ignore that. There was drug paraphernalia everywhere. The open bag of Spark next to Robby was one of several lying in plain sight. A couple of the others were pretty big; glancing around the room I could see close to ten thousand dollars worth of the drug. The scale was still there on the table, and beside it a box loaded with empty plastic bags, waiting to be filled. All of it struck me as being a bit heavy-handed. It was almost as if the red sorcerer had left Robby as an offering to the PPD.

  Robby wasn’t wearing a pendant, and I didn’t know where else he would have kept a stone like Shari’s. Not that it had to be a stone; I would have been satisfied with finding anything—other than Robby himself—that had red magic on it. But after a few minutes of this I stopped in the middle of the room, staring at the body again. I had that same dull feeling in my head—the damn moon. Why would Red care what the police thought about Robby’s death? He’d had a busy night: trying to burn a hole in my chest, destroying Q’s place, killing ’Toine and Robby. But he hadn’t made any effort to hide the rest of what he’d done. He’d tried to kill me in a crowded club. His attacks on the two street sorcerers—Q and ‘Toine—had been brutal, spectacular even. He’d left their homes in shambles.

  He could have blown the door off of Robby’s house, too. But his touch here had been as gentle as it had been rough in Maryvale and Mountain View.

  I surveyed the room, trying to see it as I would if I was still a cop. The drugs scattered all over the room, Robby dead on the couch. And me standing right in the middle of it.

  Once again it came to me in a rush. “Damn!”

  I crossed to the phone in two quick strides, intending to bypass 911 and call Kona’s direct line.

  Before I could pick up the receiver, I heard a light footfall outside the window. I dropped into a crouch and again pulled my weapon free, which seemed at the time like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Turns out it wasn’t such a great idea.

  Every light in the house went out. I heard both the front and back doors being rammed open at the same time, and seconds later there were several bright lights shining in my eyes and a number of guys carrying what appeared in the darkness to be very large weapons ordering me to drop my pistol and lie down on the floor.

  They identified themselves as Phoenix Police, and I had no reason to doubt them. This had the feel of a narcotics bust. And here I was, an ex-cop who’d left the force amid rumors of drug and alcohol abuse, with my pistol drawn in the house of a known dealer, who happened to be dead on the couch. I could imagine the big, shit-eating grin on Cole Hibbard’s face
when he heard about this.

  By the time the lights came on again, I had been cuffed, and a guy was standing over me with his foot resting on my back and his shotgun aimed at the nape of my neck.

  Another cop squatted down next to my head. He was a big guy, mid-forties maybe. Sandy hair. I didn’t recognize him. He was in plain clothes, but he had on a dark blue windbreaker. I’d seen jackets like that before—I was pretty sure it had “PPD NARCOTICS” stenciled on the back.

  “What’s your name, buddy?”

  “Jay Fearsson,” I said. “I’m a PI. My license is in my wallet.”

  “Fearsson?”

  “Yeah. I used to be on the job.”

  I saw him nod, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to take off my cuffs and invite me out for coffee and doughnuts.

  “That your car out front?” he asked. “The 280Z?”

  “Yeah, that’s mine.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Maybe fifteen minutes. I found the door unlocked.”

  “So you just thought you’d let yourself in.”

  “At this time of night, I thought something might be wrong, so yeah, I walked in. Listen, can you at least help me up. Carrying on a conversation with my face on the floor isn’t as much fun as you might think.”

  The cop glanced up at the guy standing over me and nodded. A moment later, I was hoisted to my feet.

  The cop I’d been talking to began to inform me of my Miranda rights.

  I cut him off. “I understand my rights,” I said. “I’ll answer any questions you have.”

  “You’re waiving your right to have an attorney present at questioning?”

  “Yes, I am. Ask your questions.”

  The two cops exchanged glances.

  “How do you know the kid?” the cop asked me, taking out a pencil and pad.

  “I remembered Robby from when I was a cop. I knew he’d been dealing for a while, and when I was hired by the Deegan family to look into Claudia Deegan’s death, I came to him, to find out if he sold Claudia her stuff. They were an item for a while.”

  “Sommer and Deegan?” the cop said.