His Father's Eyes

by DAVID B. COE

  “Try us,” he said. “We might surprise you.”

  We talked for a while longer, and by the time I left the mall I felt that Kevin was on my side again. I hoped that his and Kona’s faith in me would be enough.

  From Scottsdale, I intended to drive out to Wofford, to see my Dad and begin to plan for tonight. But I was still in the side streets near the mall when an all-too familiar voice spoke in my mind.

  Once again you have used magic to keep me from hearing a conversation that was of interest to me.

  “Saorla,” I said aloud, knowing she could hear me now. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that eavesdropping is rude?”

  You will come to me right now and you will come alone.

  “No, I don’t think I will. You and I will meet again, soon enough for my taste, but right now—”

  Right now I am with a friend of yours. Speak to him. Tell him that I am here.

  “Fearsson?”

  I don’t know how the necromancer managed it, but it was like she had Billie on a magical speaker phone. I heard her voice as clearly as I heard Saorla’s. Somehow I knew that she would hear me as well when I said, “Are you all right, Billie?”

  “Yes.” She sounded frightened. Who could blame her?

  She is fine. I have not harmed her, yet. But if you refuse to come here, I will kill her.

  “Is she really there with you, Billie?”

  “Yes. Who is she?”

  Never mind that, Saorla said. I will be waiting for you, and I am not feeling particularly patient.

  “Leave Billie where she is and we can meet elsewhere.”

  I do not think so.

  “I can’t get into that hospital, Saorla. It’s crawling with Phoenix police, and they want to arrest me for a murder committed by your friend Patricia Hesslan-Fine.”

  You have proven yourself resourceful, Justis Fearsson, inconveniently so. I am confident that you will find a way past the police. You have thirty minutes to get here.

  “No, I need more time than that!”

  Nothing.

  “Saorla!”

  She didn’t answer. I spat a curse and sped up. The last thing I wanted was to end up as one of those classic headlines: “Murder Suspect Arrested After Routine Traffic Stop.” But the threat implied in her time limit was enough to have me pushing the envelope on speed limits all the way back to Mesa.

  Only when I reached Banner Medical’s parking complex—with all of four minutes to spare—did I slow down. I didn’t see any police cruisers, but I hadn’t expected that I would. They wanted me to walk right in so that they could nab me in a controlled environment. There were probably a dozen plainclothes cops inside, clustered on Billie’s floor, and a few more near each of the entrances. There was no way I could walk in.

  But a transporting spell might work. I had been in Billie’s room once, so I could visualize it, and I knew the magic well enough to pull off the crafting. The problem was the distance. Billie was on the second floor, and for all I knew her room was on the far side of the building. I hadn’t paid much attention to its exact location when I visited earlier in the day. That uncertainty wasn’t going to make this conjuring any easier.

  I was down to two minutes, though. I had to cast.

  Since I wasn’t entirely sure where the room was, I focused on Billie, and on Saorla. I cast with seven elements this time: Billie, me, the car in which I was still sitting, the image of the room I wanted to be in, the distance between me and that room, Saorla, and Billie again, because I was doing this for her.

  I repeated the elements to myself seven times, concentrating as I never had before on any crafting. On the last recitation, I released the magic.

  In the past, when I’d cast transporting spells, I had experienced a wave of dizziness and a moment of intense cold. This was ten times worse. Maybe it was because of how far I was trying go. Or maybe it was because I was lost, undone by my lack of certainty as to where in the building Billie’s room was located. I felt like I was spinning uncontrollably through outer space. I was bone cold, and I couldn’t breathe. I began to panic, knowing that it was taking too long, that somehow the spell had failed. I wanted to call Billie’s name, but I couldn’t even do that.

  And then my knees struck something solid. I cried out in surprise and fright. Still my head was spinning, and I tumbled onto my side, my cheek flush against a cool, smooth floor.

  “Good,” I heard Saorla say. “You are here. Another few seconds and I would have had to kill her.”

  CHAPTER 22

  I was afraid to open my eyes, knowing that I would probably throw up as soon as I did. If anything, the spinning was worse now than it had been while I was still trapped in the icy between, desperate to reach Billie’s room.

  “A transporting spell. As I said, you are resourceful.”

  I forced myself to open my eyes, to sit up and face whatever it was the necromancer had in store for me. The dizziness wasn’t as bad as I had expected, and I was able to climb to my feet.

  Billie watched me, her eyes wide, her face as white as the sheets on which she lay. I sidled closer to her bed and took her hand.

  Saorla sat in a chair near the bed, clad once more in the green dress, her face and hair as lovely as they had been at Martell’s house. As far as I could tell, she had healed herself of the wounds Rolon and I inflicted upon her.

  I cast a quick warding that I hoped would protect Billie and me from whatever spells she directed at us.

  The necromancer quirked an eyebrow. “You believe that you can ward yourself from me?”

  “I’m pretty sure I can’t. But I’d be a fool not to try, don’t you agree?”

  “You are a fool in either case.”

  Even with a warding in place, I was helpless against her magic. Fortunately, at the first touch of it, I dropped Billie’s hand. Saorla’s spell was similar to one she had used against me in Bear’s house; it swatted me off my feet, so that I rammed into the nearest wall and crumpled to the floor.

  “Fearsson!”

  I groaned, but forced myself up. “I’m all right,” I said. “She’s playing with me. If she wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”

  “I am glad you understand that.”

  The door to Billie’s room rattled.

  “Miss Castle?” a man’s voice called from out in the corridor.

  “Tell him you are all right,” Saorla said, steel in her tone.

  Billie glanced my way, and I nodded.

  “I’m fine,” she said, loud enough for the man to hear.

  “Your door seems to be stuck. Can you open it from in there?”

  The necromancer shook her head.

  “No,” Billie said. “I guess I’m locked in.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out.”

  “Maybe you and I should leave,” I said to Saorla.

  “They will not get in until I allow them to.”

  “Fine. What is it you want?”

  “Let us begin with the conversation you just had, the one you would not let me hear. What did you discuss?”

  When I didn’t answer right away, she shifted her gaze to Billie. That was all, but it was like watching her aim a loaded pistol.

  I moved to Billie’s side again and laced my fingers through hers.“I’m making plans for this evening. I believe you intend to send your weremystes after me before the phasing begins, and I want to be ready.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  I glowered. “My father’s place,” I said, my voice flat.

  “What else did you talk about?”

  “The police investigation into Heather Royce’s murder.”

  “They believe you are guilty.”

  “The police here do. The two I spoke with know that I’m not. I told them about Patricia Hesslan-Fine. And also about Palmer Hain.”

  She scowled. “You should not have done that.”

  I shrugged. “Oops.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s all.”


  “I do not believe you.”

  “And I don’t care.”

  The door rattled again. We could hear several men speaking on the other side of it. “Don’t worry, Miss Castle, we’ll have this open in a minute.”

  “I could let them in,” Saorla said. “Several of them are detectives. I could vanish and leave you to fight them off.”

  “Yes, you could.” I let go of Billie’s hand and gave her a quick smile. “What is this about, Saorla? You didn’t bring me all the way here to ask me about a conversation. If you want to kill me for shooting you earlier, then go ahead. If it’s something else, then get to it. But I have more important things to do with what’s left of my day. I’m not going to waste the last hours of sunlight on you.”

  “Once again, you speak bravely, though you have no power or skill to back up your words. I can kill you at will. I can do the same to her, or to your father.”

  “And yet here you stand, just talking, just like me. You need me for something. What is it?”

  “You know already.”

  I took a breath, because I did know. And I was certain as well that she could could compel me to do pretty much anything she wanted, simply by threatening Billie, Kona, and my father. “Namid,” I said.

  “Precisely.”

  “What about Namid?” Billie asked.

  “She wants me to help her kill him.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “There are ways,” Saorla said.

  “Your minions tried last night. If they’d succeeded, I’d be dead, too.”

  “Yes, but they are limited, as you are. Working together, however, you and I can kill the runemyste and spare your life.”

  “How?”

  She shook her head. “Do not mistake me for a fool, Justis Fearsson. I will not tell you that until I am certain that you will help me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Not even to save the lives of those you love?”

  Even knowing that the threat was coming, I experienced a moment of pure terror. It seemed my heart was in that taloned grasp again; she had only to squeeze.

  “Don’t, Fearsson! Don’t you dare let her use me that way!”

  I’m not sure I’d ever loved Billie more than I did in that instant.

  “I won’t,” I said again, to her this time. And with the words still on my lips, I lunged at Saorla and took hold of her, one hand gripping each of her shoulders. The stink of rot filled my nostrils, and I had to grind my teeth together against a wave of nausea. But I held fast to her.

  She let out a small disbelieving gasp. That was all I gave her time to do. I cast again, blindly, without pause or thought. The elements flashed through my mind like flickers of lightning. The necromancer, me, my grip on her, the room where we were, the parking lot, the distance in between, and Billie, safe and alone here once we were gone.

  Cold and darkness closed in on me once more. My breath caught in my throat, and we spun as if thrown from a speeding car. But I refused to let go, even as she made her skin flare like the sun. Flames seared my hands, and I howled. She let out a wail as well: shock, rage, the indignity of being touched by a mere weremyste.

  We landed hard on the pavement, rolled twice before stopping with me on top of her. That lasted about a tenth of a second. I was blasted into the air, flailed as if trying to fly, and then came down hard on the hood of a sedan.

  The car alarm blared. I hoped I hadn’t ruined Amaya’s Lexus.

  She stood. I slid off the car and faced her, swaying, my body aching, a trickle of blood flowing from a scrape on my elbow. But already I could hear raised voices and approaching footsteps. My hands still tingled with the pain of touching her, but when I chanced a glance down at them I saw that they were unmarked. The skin wasn’t even red.

  “I could kill you now,” she said, her voice a raw snarl. “You who dare to lay your hands on me. I need only form the thought.”

  “Then do.” As I spoke the words, I cast again; two spells this time, not simple wardings, but something more focused that Namid had taught me a couple of months before, when I was about to face Cahors. And I used that small bit of blood in the casting. I felt guilty about it, but this didn’t seem like the time to let qualms get in the way.

  She went for my heart first, as I had known she would. I grunted at the impact of her assault. But the clawed hand could not penetrate the warding I’d placed around my heart. She tried for my mind next; the thousand-spikes attack again, I expect. That shield spell held as well. I was learning.

  Saorla let out a low growl, more demon than human. But then she pointed a finger at me and shouted, “There he is! Justis Fearsson is here.”

  Crap! Men and women were already closing on us from several directions, and at the sound of my name, most of them broke into a run.

  I glanced back at the sedan. It was a smoke gray BMW, with a great big Fearsson-shaped indentation in the hood. Me, where I was standing, and Amaya’s cream-colored Lexus.

  The closest of the cops had their weapons drawn, and one of them—a tall, blond-haired guy I remembered vaguely from my last visit to 620—halted now and leveled his pistol at me. “Get your hands up, Fearsson!”

  I released the spell, felt the icy air overtake me again.

  An instant later, I was behind the wheel of the Lexus, about six rows away from Saorla and the cops. I had time to see the cop blink and straighten, his mouth hanging open. Then the necromancer vanished as well, and I swear I thought Blond-hair was going to piss himself.

  I eased the Lexus out of the space and pulled away, driving slowly, trying to make it seem that I didn’t have a care in the world.

  But I checked my rearview mirror and watched as the rest of the detectives converged on the spot where Saorla and I had been. Blond-hair was gesturing wildly with the hand holding his weapon, and the other cop who had been nearest was nodding. They’d be explaining this to Hibbard and their other supervisors for the rest of the day.

  You were fortunate to escape, the necromancer said in my mind.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll see you before the moonrise, and you can try again.”

  And what is to keep me from going back and killing the woman?

  I nearly swerved off the road. Idiot! I could see that chess board before me: I had put my opponent in check, but I’d left my queen exposed.

  “Nothing,” I said, ashes in my mouth. “Nothing at all. But you’ve done enough to her, Saorla. Leave her alone.”

  And what do I get in return?

  “What do you want?” I asked in a monotone.

  I want Namid’skemu.

  “I can’t give him to you. I won’t.”

  He means more to you than the woman?

  “I’m not choosing between them. But I’ll give you my life for hers.”

  Your life has no value to me.

  “And hers does?”

  Silence. Either she had ended our negotiation or I had stumped her.

  “Saorla?” I said, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

  Very well, Justis Fearsson. I will spare the woman. But if you survive this night, you will owe me a boon. I do not know what it might be or when I will collect. But you will owe me. Is that agreeable to you?

  I knew better than to think that I had gotten off easy. I was incurring a debt, and the cost of repayment would be high. There would come a day when I cursed myself for the bargain I was about to strike. But for today I had kept Billie alive, and that was all that mattered to me. For today.

  “Yes, I accept those terms.”

  Good.

  She practically purred the word. My stomach knotted.

  An odd pressure withdrew from my mind—I hadn’t known it was there until I felt it vanish. Saorla was gone, at least for the time being.

  I steered the Lexus onto the freeway and headed out to Wofford. About five miles short of my father’s place, I pulled off the highway, parked along the side of the road, and hiked a short distance into the desert. Satisfied th
at no one would hear me, and that I couldn’t be seen from the road, I called Namid’s name.

  I didn’t have to wait long before he appeared before me, the desert sun glimmering on his waters and shining through him so that he appeared to glow from within.

  “You summoned me, Ohanko. You do this with disconcerting frequency.”

  “I know; I’m sorry. But I wanted to warn you, and I need your help.”

  “Begin with the warning.”

  “Saorla is still determined to kill you. She tried to force me to help her by threatening to kill Billie. I refused.”

  “Is Billie—?”

  “No, I . . . I talked her out of it.” I didn’t want to admit to him that I had struck a deal with the necromancer. He wouldn’t approve. Not that I thought I’d been so clever, but the last thing I needed was a lecture from Namid about how foolish I was.

  “She relented?” he asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Not exactly. The important thing is that Billie’s safe for now; you’re not.”

  A tight smile rippled the surface of his face. “I will tread like the fox.”

  “Good. As to the second thing—”

  “You know that I cannot help you. It is—”

  “Against the rules that govern your kind. You’ve told me before.”

  “And yet, still you ask me.”

  “That’s right. Because in this case, those rules don’t apply.”

  His face roughened. “Explain, please.”

  “Do you believe that the two women who used their magic against me the other night were responsible for the murder of the runemyste in Virginia?”

  “You told me that you believe this to be so. I found the evidence you presented to that effect quite compelling.”

  “And do you also believe that if their spell had worked last night they would have managed to kill both of us?”

  “The runes they had you draw on yourself would have made such a murder possible, yes.”

  “Then you must also believe that at this point you and your fellow runemystes are at war with Saorla and her fellow necromancers.”

  “War may be too strong a word, but I believe I see your point. Still, Ohanko, I cannot act on your world. We have laws, and even a conflict with other beings as mighty as my kind does not allow us to forget who and what we are.”