Spell Blind

by DAVID B. COE

  He inclined his head and began to vanish.

  “Tell me about my father,” I said, on impulse.

  Namid grew more substantial again. “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything.”

  “You know much about him already.”

  “Maybe. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know him at all.”

  “You are much like him. The good and the bad.”

  “Will I end up like him?”

  “That has yet to be scried.”

  “But I’m headed in that direction. Isn’t that right?”

  The runemyste seemed to weigh this. Then he sat down on the floor right where he’d been standing. I sat as well.

  “Magic exacts a price. You know this. And still you have chosen to conjure rather than block your power with Abri.”

  “Right. Like Dad did. And now he’s nuts.”

  “He made his choice. He lives with the consequences of that.”

  “You make it sound so . . . simple,” I said, anger creeping into my voice. “This is my sanity we’re talking about, Namid. It’s my life. I don’t want to wind up like my dad.”

  The runemyste gazed back at me, still glasslike. “Then take the Abri. Block your magic, and you will be free of the moon’s pull. You will not have to worry about going . . . nuts.” The word sounded strange coming from him.

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  He widened his eyes. “You cannot? Why is this?”

  I started to answer, then stopped myself and chuckled. “All right,” I said. “I get it. I’ve made my choice. That’s what you’re telling me. So I should stop complaining, right?”

  “You have made your choice for today, Ohanko. As you did yesterday. You can change your mind whenever you wish. The Abri will always be there, waiting for you.”

  “I’m not sure I could give up being a sorcerer.”

  “That is your decision to make.”

  “I almost died today,” I told him. “I was face to face with this weremyste we’re after. He killed a woman with some kind of spell, and then used his magic to make me put my weapon in my mouth. He would have made me pull the trigger.”

  The runemyste’s appearance clouded, his waters becoming turbulent. “He made you do this,” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “Just what I said. He made me. He didn’t say anything that I could hear, but suddenly I had no control over my body. I wanted to run. I wanted to shoot him. But I couldn’t do anything at all. None of my wardings worked against him.”

  Namid was scowling. “He controlled you.”

  “Yes.”

  “How is it you are still alive?”

  I grinned. “I defended myself, like you told me to. I couldn’t attack him, so I cracked the sidewalk beneath his feet. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, but it broke his hold on me.”

  The runemyste nodded. “That is good. You will be a runecrafter yet.” He eyed me again. “What else can you tell me about this man?”

  “He can change his appearance. He’s bald and clean-shaven, and then he has long hair and a beard. His eyes are pale though. Almost white. And I have a feeling that they don’t change at all.” I thought for a moment. “He speaks with an accent. I’m not sure what kind. European, I think. Maybe French? And I heard the woman call him Cower.”

  “Cower,” Namid said, with an intensity I’d never heard from him before. “Could it have been Cahors? A French name?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Do you know him?”

  “There is much I need to learn,” he said. “I must go.” He began to fade.

  “Namid, wait!”

  He solidified once more, though I sensed his reluctance. “Do you still think I can protect myself from this guy?”

  “I think you have no choice.”

  I exhaled. “Right.”

  “I must go now.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Thank you.”

  He frowned. “For what?”

  “Being honest with me.”

  “You expected less?”

  I smiled at that. “Not really, no.” I stood. “I’m sorry I called for you that way. I won’t do it again.”

  “Be well, Ohanko.” He faded from view.

  I stared for a moment at where he’d been and then considered the pile of papers and unopened envelopes on my desk; most of them were unpaid bills. They could wait. As Namid might have said, I had a big date tonight, and I had enough time to get home, eat a little dinner, and change before I had to start back toward Tempe to pick up Billie. I started toward the door, but before I reached it the phone rang.

  I strode back to the desk and picked up the receiver. “Fearsson.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Yeah, this is um . . . this is ’Toine Mirdoux.”

  He kind of mumbled it, and at first I had no idea what he’d said.

  “Who?”

  “Antoine? Remember, dog? You blew up the door to my house?”

  “Right,” I said. “How’s it going, Antoine? You calling for that chat you were going on about?”

  “What?” he said. Then he allowed himself a half-hearted laugh. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. I wanna chat.”

  Something was bothering him. I found myself wondering if whatever business he’d had with the red sorcerer had gone sour. There was a good deal of noise in the background and I had the feeling he was calling from a cell or maybe even a pay phone, if you could still find one in this city. Wherever he was, he definitely wasn’t home.

  “Great,” I said. “Let’s chat.”

  “Not on the phone, man. I need . . . I need some help. I’m in some trouble here.”

  “What kind of trouble, Antoine?”

  “Not on the phone.”

  I checked my watch again. I didn’t have time enough to get to the Mountain View precinct and back, and still make it to Tempe by eight, not if my talk with the kid was going to take any time at all.

  “I can’t now, Antoine. How about later tonight?”

  “How much later?”

  God, he sounded scared, like a little boy left alone in a dark house.

  “Tonight. Eleven, at your place.”

  “My place?”

  “You still have it warded, right?”

  There was a long silence, and after a while I started wondering if the connection had gone bad.

  “Antoine?”

  “Yeah, man. All right. My place. Eleven.”

  “Keep your head down until then, all right?”

  “No shit, man.”

  The line went dead. I returned the phone to its cradle and shook my head. Mountain View’s 733 at eleven p.m. Not even close to the way I had hoped to end my evening. But it seemed that now I had two dates. One with Billie, and the other with ’Toine Mirdoux.

  CHAPTER 15

  I made certain to get to Billie’s house precisely at eight. She seemed to place a premium on punctuality. I rang the bell and a moment later she opened the door. My jaw dropped.

  Don’t get me wrong. I already knew that Billie was beautiful. I liked the way she dressed. I loved the glasses and the pulled-back hair. But I wasn’t prepared for this. Her hair was down, dark curls spilling down her back, and she’d yet to put on her glasses. She had on a close-fitting black blouse, a flowing print skirt, heels, and a pair of long, glittering turquoise and silver earrings. It was like she had transformed herself into a movie star.

  I’d showered again before coming and I’d shaved, which I only did when I had to. I’d even put on a pair of black jeans and a button-down shirt under my bomber, instead of the usual blue jeans and t-shirt. But I felt like I ought to go home and put on a tie and jacket.

  “Hi,” I managed to say.

  Her eyes sparkled. “You’re on time.”

  “Always. You look incredible.”

  “Thank you.” She spun around once, making her skirt swirl. “You’re going to take me dancing.”

  “Whoa!” I said, s
haking my head. “I’m taking you to hear a band. I never said anything about dancing.”

  She walked away from the door, leaving it open for me. “Geez, Fearsson!” she called over her shoulder. “What do you think people do at these clubs?” She poked her head out of one of the back rooms. “I mean aside from investigate crimes.”

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” I said, wandering around her living room, knowing that this was a fight I was going to lose.

  “Well, I’m Ginger Rogers, so I guess I’ll be good enough for both of us.”

  I grinned.

  She came into the living room a few moments later, still no glasses on her face. “Ready,” she said.

  “Don’t you need to . . . to be able to see?”

  “I have my contacts in.”

  “I didn’t know you had contacts.”

  “I don’t wear them a lot. They’re kind of uncomfortable. But I figure this place is going to be pretty crowded tonight, and a lot of my readers are students. I don’t want to make it too easy for them to recognize me.”

  She was just about my height with the heels on, and I found myself staring into those incredible green eyes.

  “What’s with you tonight?” she asked, smiling at me.

  “Nothing.” I laughed. “You really look great.”

  “You’re surprised?”

  “Not at all. I’m wondering what you’re doing with me.”

  She rolled her eyes, then took my hand and led me toward the door. “Come on, Fearsson. We’re going dancing.”

  We drove to the club, though the walk from where we were able to park was only a few blocks shorter than it would have been from Billie’s house. The moon shone overhead, and I tried to ignore the way it seemed to be tugging on my mind, muddying my thoughts. As we walked, I asked her about her day, and she asked me about mine, almost like normal people. Except that I glossed over my conversation with Shari Bettancourt, and I couldn’t tell her a thing about Shari being murdered, or the red sorcerer nearly getting me to blow my brains out, or the things I had discussed with Namid. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but I was already reaching the point where I didn’t want to keep anything from her at all. I had too many secrets, and they were burning a hole in my chest.

  By the time we arrived, the line outside of Robo’s already stretched halfway down the block. Apparently Electric Daiquiri had a good reputation. Most in the crowd were college students, the girls decked out in party dresses and heels, the guys dressed with studied indifference in jeans and untucked tees or dress shirts.

  “Hey, you’re Billie Castle!” one of the girls called as we got on line. “I love your blog.”

  Billie laughed. “So much for going incognito.”

  The press was there, too, clustered across the street. Anything the Deegans did was a big deal in this town, this week more than ever.

  We could hear the band doing a sound check inside. They sounded good. Billie said something to me, but in that moment I wasn’t paying any attention. The last time I’d been at Robo’s, Red had been here, too. I sensed that he was nearby again, and I started mumbling warding spells to myself, trying to figure out how I might extend my magic to protect Billie as well. I wasn’t even sure it was possible, though I couldn’t imagine why it wouldn’t be. Act of will, right? Well, I’d kill myself willing her to be safe if it came to that.

  “Fearsson, are you listening to me?”

  I grimaced. “No, I wasn’t. I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  “What were you saying? I heard you muttering something.”

  “I was thinking about work.” Too many lies, too many secrets. “This is more than dancing, remember? This is a work night for me.”

  “Right!” she said, a conspiratorial smile lighting her face. “I’m your girl Friday.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who are we here to talk to, boss?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “This isn’t a game, you know. I probably shouldn’t have brought you at all.”

  “Why not?”

  Yeah, Jay, why not? Sometimes I’m pretty stupid. “Because this could be dangerous,” I said, feeling again like I was in a “B” movie. At least I was telling her the truth, though.

  She sobered. “Really?”

  “Really. I need to speak with the club’s manager, and the last time I was here, also to speak with him, I had the feeling that I was being followed.”

  “That stuff really happens?”

  “Not usually, no. But this has become a pretty weird case.”

  “All right,” she said, with a small nod. “I’ll stop making jokes.”

  I shook my head. “No, don’t do that. I want you to have fun. I want to have fun, too. But understand that I’ll be working.” I slipped my hand into hers. “And also know that I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Wow, Fearsson,” she said, grinning. “That was damn near heroic.” She pointed to her arm. “Check it out: I have goosebumps.”

  She did.

  Billie started to say something else, but then stopped herself, and whispered, “Oh, crap,” instead.

  I frowned, but before I could ask her what was wrong, I saw that Professor Stud from the other day was walking down the street, straight toward us.

  “Hey,” I said. “Isn’t that—?”

  “Joel. Yes. Don’t say anything. Maybe he won’t recognize me.”

  “Billie?”

  “I don’t think your disguise is very good,” I whispered.

  Billie giggled. “Hi, Joel,” she said, schooling her features.

  Good-looking-professor-boy stopped in front of us, glanced at me, but then turned his full attention on Billie. “I didn’t know you liked . . . this kind of music.”

  “Yes, very much.”

  Joel opened his mouth to say more, but I stuck out my hand, and said, “Hi. Justis Fearsson. How are you?”

  He shook it with some reluctance. “Fine, thank you. Joel Benfield.”

  “Nice to meet you, Joel.”

  “Are you with the university, Mister Fearsson?”

  “No, I’m a private detective.” I used my Dick Tracy voice again. I figured I’d let him know what he was up against. Compared to private eye, professor of American history didn’t sound all that glamorous.

  “Did you say your name was Justis?”

  “Yeah. Kind of weird, huh? You can just call me Fearsson, though. Everyone else does.”

  Billie burst out laughing.

  Joel didn’t seem to know what to make of us. “Well,” he said with false brightness. “I should be going. Billie, nice to see you again.” He shot me one last less-than-friendly glance. “Nice to meet you, Mister . . . uh . . . Justis.”

  “You, too, Joel. Take care.”

  “You’re awful!” Billie said, after Benfield had walked away. But she was still laughing.

  The line started to move, and a cheer went up from the college kids.

  “All I did was introduce myself. You were the one who couldn’t stop giggling.”

  She gave my hand a hard squeeze.

  The cover charge was twenty dollars per person, which seemed a bit steep for a college band. But I didn’t let Billie pay her own way. When she objected, I shook my head. “I told you: this is business.”

  Inside, Robo’s was a lot like every other college-town bar in the world. It wasn’t a big place, and I had the feeling that an accurate head count of the crowd would already put them over whatever limits Phoenix’s fire marshal had placed on occupancy. There was a bank of different-colored spotlights mounted on a scaffold above the band, a small, parquet dance floor in front of the stage, and a bunch of round, wooden tables scattered around the rest of the place, one of which was supposed to have my name on it. It was hot and loud, and it smelled of stale beer and sweat. But I could feel the excitement as soon as we stepped inside.

  Electric Daiquiri started their set with a couple of up-tempo instrumentals, including the piece that I’d heard the
m play a few days before. They sounded great. True to her word, Billie wasted no time dragging me out on to the dance floor. Oh, well. Hadn’t I told myself that I’d be willing to take her dancing if that’s what it took to win her over? Truth is, it was kind of fun, in large part because I got to watch her. She might not have been Ginger Rogers, but she did dance very well.

  “I thought you couldn’t dance,” she shouted to me at one point, her voice barely carrying over the music.

  “I can’t,” I shouted back.

  “Clown!” She smiled.

  The first set went by quickly. Randy did most of the talking for the band, though Tilo, as the lead singer and guitarist, was the focal point of much of the music. It made sense: Tilo was a quiet kid, and Randy did a good job as front man. At one point he spotted me in the crowd and he sent a smile and nod my way. Other than that, though, both he and Tilo ignored me.

  Late in the set they played a ballad that their keyboardist had written, and before I knew it, Billie was in my arms and we were dancing close.

  “So why don’t you like to dance?” she asked, her breath stirring my hair and warming my neck.

  “Because I look stupid doing it.”

  She pulled back so that she could see my face. “Who told you that?”

  “No one had to tell me. I just know it.”

  She shook her head and nestled against my chest again. “You’re wrong.”

  The set ended with a funky, upbeat instrumental that really got the place jumping. When they finished, the band vanished off the back of the stage, and some prerecorded music was piped through the sound system.

  “That was fun,” Billie said, flushed and smiling, a fine sheen of sweat on her face. “You want a beer?”

  “Sounds great. But I have to go work now.”

  “Right.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “Yes, Mister Fearsson,” she said, her voice like that of a dutiful schoolgirl.

  I smirked.

  “I’ll be fine. Go do your thing.” She smiled. “Then we can dance some more.”

  “All right.”

  I could see the manager’s office from the club floor. It was an elevated room with glass walls; a narrow stairway led to the door. I fought my way through the crowd toward the stairs and soon found myself face to face with a bouncer.