Spell Blind

by DAVID B. COE

  I walked to one of the windows and peered inside. Red magic shimmered like fresh blood along the walls, window frames, and doors. He’d managed to mute the glow somewhat, but now that I was aware of the spells, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed them before I did.

  From what I saw, I could only assume that the windows and back door weren’t any safer than the front. There was nothing I could do from outside the house. Once inside, I could cover Red’s magic with a warding of my own and then trip the spell, to whatever effect. But out here on my tiny lawn, I couldn’t see all of his magic, and so didn’t know where to place my wardings.

  I could think of just one way to get inside: a transporting spell. I had only worked on transporting magic once before, the other day with Namid when I was trying to learn the spell my dad invented. I thought I could pull it off, though. The problem was I didn’t know for certain what would trigger the red sorcerer’s spell. If it was the opening of a door or window, I’d be fine. If it was mere motion on the other hand, my transporting spell would be the last thing I ever did. I’d transport myself to the living room, and—boom!—no more Fearsson.

  I thought about calling on Namid again, but he’d made it clear that he couldn’t intervene on my behalf anymore. This time I was on my own. And the sky was darkening.

  “What the hell,” I muttered.

  Three elements: outside in the yard, where I was now; the living room, where I wanted to be; and me. I closed my eyes chanting the words in my head, not caring that if anyone was watching me when I did this, it would seem to them that I’d vanished. After a minute or so, I felt a sudden wave of dizziness and a rush of cold, as if a winter wind had kicked up.

  I opened my eyes and found myself in the living room, surrounded by glimmering red magic. With all that I’d seen of Red’s conjuring in the last couple of days, I was going to be seeing this color in my sleep. That is, if I survived the night.

  I took a tentative step toward the door and didn’t blow up, which I counted as a small victory. The next part, though, promised to be far more difficult. First, I warded the house, placing defensive magic all around it, much as Orestes and ’Toine had done with their houses. I tried not to focus on the fact that neither of them had managed to keep Red from destroying the buildings anyway. When I’d finished, though, I couldn’t help but notice how weak and thin my wardings looked. My magic had a bluish tint to it; it was almost aqua, to be exact. And most of the time I thought of the color as being pretty deep. But next to the crimson glow that pulsed from the walls and doors, my conjuring seemed as insubstantial as mist. I could only hope that it would hold.

  My next and final challenge would be to trip the magic. Motion hadn’t done it, and since it would have been easy to shatter a window from a distance, I couldn’t imagine that something so simple would either. In which case, the magic must have worked like a home security system. I had to open something, break the contact, as it were. But of course, I didn’t want to be anywhere near whatever it was I opened.

  I started by using masking tape on the door, to keep it from moving before I wanted. Then, with the care of a burglar, I unlocked it and secured the latch, so that nothing was holding the door closed but that tape. Finally, I got some cord from the kitchen and tied it to the door handle.

  I stood all the way back in the kitchen, but peered around at the door, the cord wrapped around my fist. I was sweating like an overworked horse and my hands were trembling. I checked my wardings once more, to make certain they were in place, and then for good measure, I sheathed myself in magic as well.

  Deep breath. And then I yanked hard on the cord.

  I’d been expecting something spectacular, and I wasn’t disappointed. The force of the explosion knocked me off my feet and made the place quake. Bright yellow flames shot out the door and out a few of the living room windows. I suppose Red wanted people to believe it had been an accident, a natural gas explosion or something like that. And they would have.

  I lay dazed on the floor for several seconds. Then I crawled into the living room, my ears ringing, expecting to see the place in shambles. Miraculously, though, my wardings had held. The door was black and smoking, there were new cracks in the walls and ceiling, and several windows were broken. But the damage to the house was minimal considering.

  I sat, leaned against a wall, and took a deep breath.

  “Justis!”

  Kona appeared in the doorway, her weapon drawn, real fear on her face.

  “Here,” I said from the floor.

  She holstered her pistol and hurried over.

  “You all right?” she asked, squatting beside me.

  I nodded.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “A present from our friend.”

  She hung her head and shook it. “I’m really starting to hate this guy.”

  “Oh?” I said. “He blow up your place, too?”

  CHAPTER 20

  Kona stuck around for a while and helped me clean up the worst of the mess from Red’s pyrotechnics display. I found some old cardboard boxes in the garage and cut out pieces to fit in the window frames in place of broken panes. One of my neighbors called the fire department, but when the engines rolled up, Kona convinced the fire fighters that we had the situation under control. I wondered though if I’d set some kind of city record for initiating 911 calls in a two-day period—Shari Bettancourt’s house, the bar, Antoine’s house, Q’s place, and now this. Not to mention Robby Sommer. Death and mayhem seemed to follow me around.

  When we’d done all we could to clean things up, Kona took a seat in the kitchen. I gave her a beer, filled a glass of water for myself, and sat across the table from her. I’d picked up a small scrap of wood from the door, and I was toying with it.

  “What’s that?” Kona asked.

  “Part of my door. Red’s magic is still on it.”

  “Red?”

  “That’s what I’ve been calling him. His magic’s red, so . . .” I shrugged.

  She laughed. “Dude’s blowing up your house, killing people right and left, and you’ve named him like he was some damn pet.” She shook her head. “You’re a piece of work.”

  I grinned. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “He knows where you live now,” she said, growing serious again. “That can’t be good. Maybe you should stay with Margarite and me tonight.”

  “I can’t tonight. You know that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Tomorrow’s the full moon, Kona.”

  She stared at me for a second, looking lost. Then it hit her. “Oh,” she said, sounding like someone had punched her in the gut. “I knew that. That’s why I’m here, right?” She shook her head. “Crap.” It took her only a few moments to recover. “Well, that’s all the more reason you shouldn’t be alone. I can stay here with you.”

  “Thanks, partner, but I’ll be all right. And it wouldn’t be safe for you, remember.”

  “Right,” she said. “Twice the magic; half the control.”

  We’d been through this conversation before. I had always appreciated her offers to stay with me during the phasings, but I’d never let her do it. I didn’t want anyone around me when I was sinking into the delusions and psychosis, in part because I was afraid I’d hurt someone, and in part because I dreaded being seen like that.

  “But,” she said, “if this sorcerer—”

  “It’s full moon for him, too,” I reminded her. “He might be strong, but he can’t change what it means to be a weremyste.” I shook my head. “Red won’t bother me tonight.”

  “Would you stop calling him that, please. It makes him sound like an Irish setter.”

  “We can call him whatever you want. The fact is, he’ll be dealing with his own phasing tonight.”

  “What about tomorrow morning? And the day after that, and the night after that?” She glanced out at my living room. There was dry wall dust all over the floor and furniture and there were cracks in the walls and ceiling. Kona cou
ldn’t see the residue of Red’s magic and mine as I could, but that hardly mattered. “I’ve never tried to tell you how to use your mojo, Justis. I don’t know anything about it. But it seems to me you need some help here. You’re in over your head.”

  As if I needed her telling me that. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been working with Namid, improving my spell work.”

  “How’s that going?” she asked, sounding skeptical.

  “I’m alive,” I said. “A week ago, I wouldn’t have survived what he did to my house.”

  I didn’t tell her that I was still a novice compared to this guy, or that I had no confidence that I could survive his next attack. But I’m not sure she needed to be told.

  “All right,” she said. “I’m going to assume that you know what you’re doing.”

  I chuckled. “When has that ever been a good idea?” My gaze strayed toward the window. The sky was almost dark. The moon might well have been rising at that moment. “You should go,” I said, knowing it sounded abrupt, rude even. Just then I didn’t care. “Another five minutes and I won’t be much fun to be around.”

  “There’s an assumption there,” she said, smiling at me. “But we’ll discuss it another time. I should get home to Margarite anyway. I told her I’d met Billie and she’s eager for details.” She finished her beer and put the bottle in the sink. “Call me in the morning,” she said, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I want to know you’re all right.”

  I nodded. “Okay.” I didn’t really want her to leave, but I didn’t want her to stay, either.

  She put out her hand. We’d done this a hundred times before, but tonight it felt more final, more frightening. I pulled my Glock from my shoulder holster, removed the magazine, and handed the weapon to her. I was about to be delusional, and who knew what else. Having a weapon in the house would have been dangerous, to say the least. As an afterthought, I pulled off the holster and hung it on my chair.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I sat at the table, staring at the wood grain, and I listened as she let herself out of what was left of my house.

  Still I sat, and I began to hear noises. Shouts from out on the street, or maybe from my living room. I shrank back from what I saw at the door, at the broken windows. Red and aqua light played around the edges of the walls and framing. Wardings. I’d used wardings there. Against Red.

  I needed to do that again. I’d told Kona—Kona, who had been here only a minute or two before; or had it been longer?

  I’d told her that I was safe. That tonight, of all nights, Red couldn’t hurt me. Why the hell would I have thought that? What an idiot I’d been!

  Standing, I realized that I held something in my hand: a scrap of wood slick with magic, red like blood. I flung it away before it could hurt me and rubbed my fingers on my shirt, expecting them to start burning any second. The red was everywhere. I needed to protect myself from it. I didn’t know why, but I did. Wardings. That’s what I’d been thinking. Wardings. That was why I’d stood.

  But that red magic was already inside. What was the use of warding if it was already here?

  I watched the red as I sidled toward the back of the house, my back to the wall. When I couldn’t see the red anymore I threw myself down the hallway and into another room. My room. There was no red in here. I closed the door. Locked it.

  My room, a shield, and that red magic.

  No, those weren’t the right elements. Three was the right number. But the elements had to be right, too. My room, the shield, and . . . what? Red himself. I spoke the spell, felt magic surge through me.

  The walls shimmered with magic the color of the sea. I sunk to the floor and leaned back against the side of my bed, my eyes closed.

  I heard a coyote howl in the distance. Opening my eyes again, I saw sprigs of cinquefoil and clover sprouting from the rug. The ground. I squinted up at the sun overhead, felt its heat on my face and neck and shoulders. A hot breeze touched my skin and I wiped sweat from my brow.

  Honeybees grappled with the tiny blooms beside me and a butterfly floated past. Following it with my eyes, I saw it swoop over a patch of grass and then loop back toward a low, shaded path. I inhaled sharply, held my breath, the butterfly forgotten.

  The path. It was red, and it wound away from me, cutting through the shimmering aqua light like a knife. Red. He was down that path. I could feel him, close, powerful. Evil, someone had called him. Who had said that?

  I followed. I stayed where I was, too tired to move, too comfortable in the clover and grass. But I followed, my mind flying down that path. It led a long way from the grass, over rock and sand and more rock. The grass and flowers were gone, but still the red went on, and I followed, determined now, tired no longer, though still I was sitting, resting.

  Like embers the red glowed, hot and angry and my feet ached, my face and neck and chest burned. Heat rose from the path like steam from a boiling pot, damp, rank with the smell of blood. But I followed. After a time a second color bled into the crimson. Green, pale as a forest mist. The colors twined, and I followed, until the green broke free and curled away. I knew that green. I’d seen it before. But I stayed with the red, knowing that was the important color. Time was running short, and I was growing desperate, conscious of the sun dropping like a stone toward the horizon. I tried to run, gasping for breath, my feet leaden.

  The path began to climb, steeper and steeper, until I was scrabbling on all fours. An animal, chasing the scent of blood. Other colors joined the red and faded, sweeping in from left and right like swallows angling along a cliff face. Blues and yellows, oranges and golds, something akin to pure light itself, and this one I did know, but it was gone so fast I had no time to guess from where. More greens, more purples. Always they swung away again, these other colors. But the red remained, a gash running through all the rest—raw, livid, fevered. That was the constant, and that was the path I followed.

  A bird squawked, shrill and insistent from beside the path. I ignored it, but it called again. Twice, three times. Until I had to stop and search for it.

  The phone. The phone was ringing. I picked it up. No sound. At least not at first.

  Had I said hello?

  “Fearsson?”

  I knew the voice, though it seemed to be coming from far away. I could see the red path still, but the sun was setting. I had no time.

  “Fearsson? You there?”

  “Billie,” I said, because that was the name.

  “We must have a bad connection or something. Can you hear me okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “I just wanted to tell you again what a great a day I had. I’m so glad I got to meet your father.”

  I didn’t take my eyes off the path. I was afraid even to blink, in case it vanished in the failing light.

  “Fearsson?”

  “I have to go.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Did Kona come by? Are the two of you still working?”

  “No. Kona’s . . . she left. The light’s almost gone, and I’m losing the path. I can’t . . . I have to go.”

  “I don’t . . . You sound funny, Fearsson. Are you all right?”

  I had to make her understand; it was important that I explain to her better. But the ribbon of crimson light had faded almost to nothing. And I couldn’t find the words.

  “Fearsson? You still there?” She sounded frightened now. I could hear the fear in her voice. I was scared, too. The path.

  “I can’t now,” I said, and hung up.

  I started up the path again, loose rocks falling away behind me, my hands scraping on the stone and dirt. But I could still see the red and I thought I could see the top.

  The phone rang again. The bird. Keening, its voice echoing off the cliffs. But I ignored it. After a time, it stopped.

  On and on I climbed. There were no other colors now; only the red. The path was barren, rocky, unforgiving. The drop on either side would have been enough to kill me. In the distance I could s
ee some trees, clustered like cattle in a rainstorm. Mountains rose beyond them, gray and austere. Closer, the terrain rolled like swells on some grassy sea, silvered where the wind blew, bending the grasses so that they gleamed in the pale light.

  I slowed as I neared the top, fearful, eager. Far to the west, the sun seemed to teeter on the edge of the world, huge, ovate, its color a match for the path I’d followed to the top of this rise. But I saw nothing. I’d reached the top, and there was nothing. Rock, the lurid glow of that sun, and laughter riding the wind. That was all. The path was gone; it wasn’t even behind me anymore.

  “What the hell?” I muttered.

  I’d been so sure that I was following him. Red. I’d known that he’d be here at the end. So where was he?

  “Right here.”

  I opened my eyes, not realizing they’d been closed. He stood over me. Tall, broad, bald. Eyes as pale as bone. His nose was hooked and crooked. Broken once, maybe. There was something regal about it. His lips were thin and pale, and his chin was dimpled. For so long I’d wanted to see his face, to memorize his features. I stared at him. Stared and stared. I couldn’t help myself.

  “Tu aies me cherche, oui?” he said, his smile cold and cruel. “You have been looking for me?”

  For a moment I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. At last I nodded. “Yes. But you couldn’t come tonight. It’s . . . the moon. You couldn’t come. And I put wardings on my . . .”

  I stopped, because he was laughing. A sound that chilled me, that seemed to make the room colder. The sun was a light again. No heat. I was shivering.

  And in that moment I knew. The rest had been delusion, hallucination; whatever you wanted to call it. It hadn’t been real. But he was. Red was standing over me in my bedroom. And I was a dead man.

  I tried to crawl away from him, my eyes never leaving his face. But he stood between me and my door. I groped for a spell—any spell—that would send him away or shield me from whatever he was about to do. But I could feel the moon pressing down on my mind, crushing memory, knowledge, craft—everything I needed.