by DAVID B. COE
“But what if Saorla is trying to act on our world so that she can gain an advantage in her fight with you?”
“I am not sure that matters.”
“Doesn’t matter?” I said, my voice rising.
“If the runemystes ignore the laws that created us, we betray the trust placed in us by the Runeclave. And at that point, we cease to be what we were. We become no better than the necromancers themselves.”
I suppose there was something admirable about his principled dedication to the law, and at some point maybe I’d be able to tell him as much. But just then he was really pissing me off. I realized, though, that he didn’t have to act on our world. Not in a strict sense, at least.
“Surely, though,” I said, “your mandate from the Runeclave involved more than abiding by the law that keeps you from interfering in our world.”
He frowned at that, his brow turning choppy. “Yes. But—”
“You were tasked with protecting our world from the influence of dark magic, isn’t that right?”
“I believe I see what you are getting at.”
“Do you? My life depends on your understanding.”
“You would argue that my oath to uphold those laws is in conflict with my oath to guard against dark magic, and that therefore I should honor the latter over the former.”
“I would argue that, but I know you too well to think you wouldn’t find a way to honor both.” I smiled. “So I’ve found a way for you.”
His frown deepened. “You have?”
“Yes. Are there others of your kind who can help you?”
“Others?”
“I don’t trust Saorla, and I fear the blood magic of her weremancers. You should have backup.”
“Backup,” he repeated. Another word that sounded awkward when he said it. “I do not know what this is.”
“It’s a police term,” I said. “It means support, help.”
“Ah, yes. Perhaps . . . backup would be wise. But how does having help allow me to obey my laws and still fight for you?”
“I don’t need you to fight for me, not really. I’ll have some . . . some backup as well. We’ll be able to fight the weremancers. All I need for you to do is live by your laws and make certain that Saorla does the same.”
“You want us to keep her from fighting against you.”
“Exactly. You wouldn’t be acting on our world so much as preventing her from doing so.”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “I do not know, Ohanko. We are not to interfere, even if others possessing powers similar to ours do. I do not know if others of my kind will agree to your request.”
“Then you’ve already decided,” I said. “The runemystes believe that following the Runeclave’s directive not to interfere is more important than combatting dark magic.”
“I did not say that.”
“Your actions say it. If the dark sorcerers have Saorla on their side, and she’s able to do as she wants with us, I’m dead, and so are any who fight beside me. But it’s up to you, Namid—you and the rest of the runemystes. If you’re determined to stop the spread of dark magic in my world and, oh-by-the-way, if you’re also determined to prevent further attacks on members of your little circle, you’ll help us in this one way. If not . . .” I shrugged. “Well, I’m going to fight anyway.”
He stared at me for a long time. I didn’t know if I had ticked him off, and I sure wasn’t sorry if I had.
“I will speak with the others,” he finally said. “Be well.”
I watched him evaporate into the desert air. Then I got back in the car and drove the rest of the way out to my father’s trailer.
Sunlight angled across the desert, casting long, twisting shadows from the bases of saguaro cacti and bathing the sand and sagebrush in gold. I pulled up near the trailer, my eyes on my dad, who was slumped in his chair as usual. He didn’t appear to be twitching anymore, but there was an empty, dirty cereal bowl at his feet, and he wasn’t wearing socks. He certainly wasn’t at his best. I opened the car door.
Upon stepping out of the car onto the dirt and gravel drive, I felt the pull of the moon again, even more forcefully than before. My thoughts seemed to fragment and for a moment I just stood there, one hand on the door, the other braced on the roof of the Lexus. I couldn’t remember what I’d been about to do.
But the phasing hadn’t started quite yet, and after a few seconds I was able to clear my head enough to recall where I was and why I had come. I did a quick survey of the land around my father’s place and saw nothing. That was what I had hoped for, and also what I expected. Still, I knew a moment of relief.
I shut the door and walked to where my dad sat, feeling a little unsteady on my feet. I kissed his forehead, drawing his gaze, which was clouded, unfocused.
“How are you doing, Pop?”
“Justis?”
“Yeah.” I pulled out the extra chair, unfolded it, and sat. “Are you feeling all right?”
He rubbed a hand over his face and then ran both hands through his thin hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not . . . I’m better, I think.” He eyed me again. “What are you doing here?”
“Long story.”
He glanced at the bandage on my wrist. “What happened?”
“Another long story.”
He nodded rather than pursue either question. “I feel the moon. What day is it?”
“The phasing begins in less than two hours.”
“Crap,” he whispered, reminding me of me. “Why are you here? Do you usually come for the phasings?”
“No, but this month is different.”
“Different how?”
Another long story, but this one I couldn’t keep from him.
“Do you remember the pain you’ve been experiencing the last few weeks?”
“Pain? I . . .” He stopped, pressed his lips into a hard line and dipped his chin. “The burning,” he said. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Dark magic. You’ve been under attack from what Namid calls necromancers.”
“Namid.” He sat up straighter. “He was here. In fact, you were with him.”
“That’s right.”
“And these necromancers . . .”
“They’re like runemystes. Their powers are similar, but they weren’t created by the Runeclave. They bought their power and their immortality with blood magic.”
“And they were hurting me to get at you.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry. They wanted to learn about our wardings, our defenses, so that they could then use me to kill Namid.”
His forehead creased. “Kill Namid? That’s impossible.”
“No, it’s not. And at some point I’ll explain to you how they intended to do it. But what matters now is that at least one of them is coming here, along with some weremystes who have been helping them. They threatened to hurt you again, and I’m here to make sure they don’t. But ultimately what they want is a fight, some would say a war. And this is going to be the first real battle.”
He smiled at that. “I’m not a praying man, Justis, and I haven’t been to church in about a hundred years. But even I know that the first battle in this fight was fought a long, long time ago. This is the latest incarnation of the same damn war.”
I lifted a shoulder, conceding the point.
“So you and I are going to fight side by side, huh? I always dreamed of that.”
I grinned. “So did I. But no. You’re going to stay in the trailer.”
“The hell I am.”
“Dad—”
“Justis.”
I winced and stared out over the desert. A pair of ravens swooped and soared over the first line of hills, jet black against a deep blue sky. “I feel bad saying this, but on your best day you’re not the sanest guy I know. We’re right on the cusp of the phasing, and this is not going to be your best day. I can’t be worrying about you at the same time I’m fighting off a bunch of dark sorcerers.”
“Then don’t worry,” h
e said, the stern tone taking me back to my childhood.
I opened my mouth to say more, but closed it again. Patty Hesslan-Fine would be coming; I was as certain of that as I was of anything I’d told him. I didn’t know how he would respond to hearing her name, much less seeing her in the flesh.
“Left you speechless, eh?”
“Tell you what,” I said, standing. “Let’s get you some food and a change of clothes and we’ll work from there.”
“You humoring me?”
“No, sir. I’m trying to see how capable you are today. If you’re a danger to yourself or to me, I’ll lock you in the goddamned bathroom. If you’re all right, we sure as hell could use the help.”
He pushed himself out of his seat and stared me right in the eye. We were about the same height, and his eyes were so much like mine it was like gazing into the mirror.
“God, you look like your mother,” he whispered.
“Except for my eyes.”
“Right. Except for them.” He broke eye contact, glancing back toward the city. “I’ll eat,” he said. “And I’ll put on a fucking tie and jacket if you want me to. But if you try to lock me away, I’ll tear this place apart.”
“It’s your trailer,” I said. “I’ve got a place to sleep tonight.” A lie, but that was not a conversation I wanted to have at the moment.
He smiled. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
I followed him into the trailer, pausing on the threshold to check back over my shoulder. I still saw nothing on his land; I hoped that was a good sign.
He changed clothes, which meant putting on a clean T-shirt and jeans. He even put on socks. In the meantime, I fixed us both sandwiches and poured a couple of glasses of orange juice. I hadn’t eaten since leaving the hospital that morning, which may have been why the moon was already affecting me so powerfully. I felt better after I’d downed my sandwich.
After he finished his, I cleaned up and turned to face him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Muddled,” he said. “The way I always do right before a phasing. And you’d be lying if you told me you weren’t feeling the same.”
“You’re right,” I said.
“So, you going to lock me in the bathroom?”
“So that I can spend the next ten Tuesdays doing repairs? No, thanks.”
He chuckled. “Good.”
“But, Dad, there’s something you should know. One of the dark sorcerers—”
“Car,” he said, staring past me toward the door. “Coming fast.”
“Damn.”
He started for the door, but I stopped him.
“Wardings first,” I said.
“Right.”
We each cast several spells in quick succession. I put every warding I could think of on both of us, and I felt his magic settling over me like a warm rain. He had done the same.
Once finished, we went back outside. He halted a few steps from the trailer, and stared at Amaya’s Lexus. “That yours?”
“One more long story.”
His mere glance conveyed so much disapproval I almost laughed. But then our gazes were drawn to the two SUVs bouncing down his rutted road and raising a plume of rust-colored dust. I had hoped that Amaya and the others would arrive here before Saorla and her friends, and it seemed that this once luck was on my side.
And then it wasn’t.
A figure winked into view a few yards from where we stood. Long brown hair twisting in the wind, a green dress, and a shawl around her shoulders.
Dad shot me a questioning look. But he didn’t get the chance to give voice to his curiosity. Several more people appeared behind Saorla. I made a quick count; there were eight in all. Hain was there, apparently fully healed from our encounter earlier in the day. Witcombe stood near him, as did Gary Hacker and four other guys I didn’t recognize. Clearly, Hacker and some of the others weren’t pleased by the company they were keeping. But my dad couldn’t tear his eyes away from the third woman in their group. The setting sun shone on her face, and glimmered in her warm brown eyes. I had wondered if my father would recognize her through the blur of her magic. I should have known better than to doubt.
“What is she doing here?” he whispered.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you a minute ago.”
“Elliott Hesslan’s daughter, right? I’m not imagining this?”
“You’re not imagining it.”
“Justis Fearsson,” Saorla said. “And Leander as well. Did you ever imagine that you would die together?”
“I know that voice,” my dad said, turning his gaze to the necromancer. “Who is she?”
“She’s your worst nightmare,” I said. “A runemyste without a soul.”
CHAPTER 23
The SUVs stopped some distance short of the trailer with a scrape of skidding tires on dirt and another billowing cloud of dust. The doors opened and several men got out. In addition to Amaya and Rolon, Paco and Luis, I thought I recognized a few of the others as well—maybe from the army of gun-toting guards I’d seen at Amaya’s house. But the four I knew were the only weremystes among them. The others were there as muscle. Heavily armed muscle. Every one of them, including Amaya, held a weapon in his hand. Several had MP5s, Rolon and Paco were carrying what looked like SIG Sauer 556 SWATs, and the rest had handguns—also SIG Sauer. I wondered if Amaya owned stock in the company.
“Who are they?” my father muttered. “Where the hell are all these people coming from?”
“I know them,” I said, speaking quickly, my voice low. “They’re here to help us.”
“They look like they’re here to cause trouble.”
He was right, they did.
Saorla made a sweeping gesture with her right hand and even out in the open air, I felt the frisson of magic on my skin. Amaya, Rolon, and the others went down like bowling pins. Their weapons were ripped from their hands, but rather than scattering on the desert dirt, the MP5s, SIG P220s, and SIG 556s rose into the sky, swirling as if caught in an eddy of air. Saorla raised her hand over her head and closed her fist slowly. The weapons began to gleam red, and I heard the dull, rapid pop, pop, pop of ammunition going off in the magazines.
She dropped her hand and the spinning weapons fell to the ground, now a circular mass of molten steel and plastic.
“I think we will not involve these firearms in our evening’s activities,” she said.
Those standing with her laughed.
My father rubbed his arms; I saw goosebumps on his skin. “That voice,” he said again. “She’s the one who spoke to me.”
“She’s also the one who tortured you. I hate her a lot.”
My dad glanced my way, and I made myself grin. Inside, though, I was reeling. The necromancer had cast her spells with ease. We were lucky she had chosen to disarm Amaya and his men rather than kill them. I assumed she and her weremancers wanted their blood. It seemed that Namid had been unable to convince his fellow runemystes to keep Saorla in check. If the myste had even tried.
Paco and one of the guards I didn’t know by name were the first of Amaya’s men to get back up. They helped the others to their feet, including Jacinto. Amaya caught my eye, and I held up a hand, telling him to stay where he was. I didn’t know if Saorla would allow him to join my father and me near the trailer, but I liked the idea of Patty, Witcombe and the others having to fight on two fronts, as it were.
“There is much blood here,” Saorla said. “I am pleased. Thank you, Justis Fearsson, for inviting your friends to join us.”
“What is it you want with us?” my dad called to her, his voice hoarse. “What the hell are you doing on my land?”
“Dad—”
“I want nothing from you, Leander Fearsson. It is your son whose aid I seek. He knows what for. But I will admit that you showed more spirit than I had guessed a mad, enfeebled man might.” Her body and face rippled, like reflections in disturbed water, and a moment later she stood before us as my m
other from the earliest memories I had of her. She wore a cornflower blue dress, and the crooked smile that still occasionally haunted my dreams. Honey brown hair fell in soft curls to her shoulders, and the color of her eyes had darkened from Saorla’s pale blue so that it matched the dress perfectly. I had remembered my mother as beautiful, but even so, I had not remembered her like this. It was magic, I knew: Saorla’s enchantment. But still I couldn’t avert my eyes. She was mesmerizing.
I heard a soft sob from my father, and I put an arm around his shoulders.
“Stop it,” I said, my voice as harsh as I could make it.
“Does your father want me to stop?” she asked, canting her head to the side, looking more alluring than any guy should ever see his mom look, even if she was an illusion.
I chanced a quick glance at my dad. He had closed his eyes and was muttering to himself in silence. “You know he does, Saorla. Now either take your true form, or go back to the lying hag we all know so well. But stop this.”
Her form wavered a second time, and the familiar Saorla glared at me through pale eyes. “You should be careful what you ask for, Justis Fearsson.”
Magic surged through the air again, and Hacker and one of the other men standing with Saorla let out sudden howls and fell to the ground, writhing, moaning.
All of us stood transfixed, watching the weres shift. Alone among us, Saorla appeared to enjoy what she saw. A faint smile played at the corners of her mouth, and she stared first at one and then at the other, a disconcerting hunger in her pale eyes. Most of the others closed their eyes or turned away. Hain and Patty watched, but even they flinched at the men’s contortions and the snapping of bone.
“This can’t be good,” my dad said.
I didn’t bother to agree. After a few moments more, Hacker had transformed into the large coyote I’d seen at his single-wide. The second man had become a mountain lion. The transitions had taken less time this evening. I attributed that to how close we were to the moonrise and the start of the phasing.
The coyote padded toward the trailer and my dad and me. The cougar slunk toward Amaya and the others. Hacker growled low in his chest, and the big cat let out a hunting scream the likes of which I’d only heard previously deep in the Arizona wilderness.