Spell Blind

by DAVID B. COE

  “I heard you got shot,” she said. “It was in the paper.”

  “Yeah?” Intelligent, I know. But it was all I could manage at the time.

  “You all right?”

  “Sure. I’m fine.”

  She nodded, and walked to where I was standing. I hadn’t left the porch light on, and only the blue glow of a nearby streetlight kept us from standing in total darkness.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Why? To tell me again how much you don’t want to be with me?”

  “That’s not fair. Everything I said to you the other day was about how much I do want to be with you. But I’m scared.”

  Her eyes held mine for the span of a single heartbeat. Then I walked past her to the door, unlocked it, and reached in to switch on a light. I hesitated for an instant, before turning to her and indicating with an open hand that she should come inside. She wouldn’t look at me as she stepped by, and I wondered if I would have been better off sending her away. But I followed her into the house and closed the door behind us.

  After a few seconds, she turned toward me and took a breath. “You have mental health problems, Fearsson.”

  “I know that. I’m the one who told you, remember?”

  “Of course I do. But I’ve been researching this, and I’ve learned a bit more about magic and the phasings. You can actually learn a fair amount once you figure out where to look.”

  I had an idea of where she was going with this. “Billie—”

  “There are drugs. Medications you can take that will keep you healthy. I know about the full moon now, what it does to you. But you can control it.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why?” she asked, sounding frightened and angry and so sad it made my eyes sting.

  “I tried to explain it to you on Saturday.”

  “Right. Magic. But wouldn’t it be worth it to be whole again, to make those bad times go away?”

  “No,” I said. “It wouldn’t.”

  She shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek, and then another. “Damn you! You’d actually choose to suffer this way, wouldn’t you? You’d turn your back on a cure and keep going the way you are now.”

  “Magic is a tool. I need to be able to use it. And after all you know now about what happened to Claudia Deegan, and what almost happened to me, you should understand that.”

  She shook her head again. “You’re too far gone already.”

  I’d had enough. We could have spent half the night going around and around with this. But I didn’t see the use, and I didn’t have the energy for it. “You know, Namid,” I said aloud. “I could use some help here.”

  “Who are you talking to?” She sounded scared. If the runemyste didn’t show, I’d never see her again.

  But a moment later, there he was, shimmering like starlit waters.

  “She wants me to start taking blockers,” I told him.

  “It would be better if you did not,” he said. “You can do more good with your magic than without it.”

  “I know. I want you to tell her that.”

  Billie took a step back, and I was afraid she’d bolt for the door. “This isn’t funny, Fearsson.”

  “Come on, Namid. Help me out.”

  “Who is Namid?”

  An instant later, his liquid skin rippled, as if disturbed by a gust of wind. Billie gasped.

  “He is,” I said.

  “Good God, what is that?”

  “Please. ‘Who,’ not ‘what.’ His name is Namid’skemu and he’s a runemyste.”

  “What the hell is a runemyste?” she asked, her eyes riveted on Namid.

  “It’s kind of a ghost.”

  “I am not a ghost,” he said, making her jump again. “I am a runemyste. And you are a distraction to him.”

  What a charmer.

  “Never mind that. Tell her about the blockers.”

  “If Ohanko were to take the Abri, he would no longer be able to cast spells. I would rather he train his mind and his magic, and keep his mind clear that way.”

  “Abri?”

  “The medicines that stop magic and protect him from the moon-times. Ohanko calls them blockers.”

  “But he’s sick. Magic is driving him insane.”

  Namid glanced at me, and a flicker of sadness crossed his watery features. “Yes,” Namid said. “As it did his father. Magic is a dangerous tool, and it exacts a cost. As he hones his craft the effects may be controlled. But this is his choice as well as his fate. If he chooses to give up his powers, it must be his decision, and his alone. I cannot force him not to take the Abri; you cannot force him otherwise. For now he has chosen to be a runecrafter, and he must live with the consequences of that choice. So must you.”

  “No!” Billie said, fear of the runemyste giving way to anger. “Just because you say it’s his fate doesn’t make it true! You’re his friend! If you know where his magic leads, you should tell him to stop!”

  “Billie—”

  “Yes, I am his friend,” Namid said, his voice even as he regarded me again with that same sad expression. “But I am also his teacher, and I have a responsibility to the Runeclave, just as I do to him. Your world is a safer place tonight because of Ohanko’s magic. Do you deny this?”

  Billie opened her mouth, then closed it again. After a few seconds she shook her head.

  “If Ohanko was still a police officer would you tell him to quit rather than put his life in danger?”

  “No,” she said, her voice low. “But this is different.”

  “I do not believe it is,” Namid said. “There is magic involved, and since you do not understand the craft you think it is different. But is it really?”

  Billie narrowed her eyes. “What did you say you were again?”

  “A runemyste. My kind guard against the use of dark magic in your world, and we give aid to those who have Runeclave blood in their veins. We teach them to craft, we guide them in this battle against those who would misuse their powers. Ohanko is a runecrafter—a weremyste you would call him—of limited ability. He is learning to become more. But the moontimes will always be hard for him. There is no way to avoid this. Do you understand?”

  She considered me, her forehead furrowing. Then faced Namid again. “Will he hurt himself?” she asked. “I’ve read that sometimes people with magic—they hurt themselves or . . . worse.”

  “He has not yet.”

  Billie gave a wan smile. It was kind of nice to see someone else dealing with Namid’s cryptic answers and stubborn logic. “So,” she said after a some time, “maybe having someone around, someone who might check in on him now and then, wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

  Namid stared at her for a moment. After a few seconds he nodded, his waters softening. I thought I might even have glimpsed a smile on his face.

  “I think I like her, Ohanko.”

  “I thought you said she was a distraction.”

  “I may have been wrong.”

  My mouth fell open. “Well, Billie, that’s a first. You’ve gotten Namid’skemu of the K’ya’na-Kwe clan to admit that he might have been wrong about something.”

  Billie grinned.

  “Your humor is most peculiar, Ohanko. I like her, but you I am not so sure about.” He turned to Billie. “We understand each other now about the Abri?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Good. Farewell.”

  He vanished, though for a long time Billie continued to stare at the place where he’d been standing.

  “So, what else have you got?” she asked, turning to face me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, you’ve got psychological problems, you’re a sorcerer, you hang out with that misty-ghosty thing—”

  “Runemyste.”

  “Whatever. I’m wondering if there’s more I should know before we go any further.”

  “Are we going further?” I asked.

  She took my hand. “I think I’d like to, yes. But slowly
, Fearsson. We’ve got to take it slowly. I’m in uncharted waters here and I won’t lie to you: this all scares me.”

  “I can understand that. Sometimes it scares me, too.”

  We stood in silence, our eyes locked.

  “So, is there more?” she asked.

  “I can’t think of anything else. We’ve covered most of it in the last week or two.”

  “Well, good,” she said. “Because I’m hungry, and I’ve had enough surprises for a while.”

  “You want me to make you some dinner?”

  “Right,” she said. “The one-armed chef. I’d like to see that.” She pulled me toward the door. “No, I want you to take me out. No dives this time. Someplace nice.”

  “The dive was your idea,” I reminded her.

  “Fine. I’ll choose this place, too.”

  She led me out into the night, and I paused long enough to turn off the light and lock the door, content in that moment to follow her anywhere.

  Acknowledgements

  The publication of this novel has been a long time in coming and I am indebted to a great many people. Years ago, when I first researched the book, Karen Kontak, of the Phoenix Police Department’s Crime Analysis and Research Unit, provided me with much basic information about life in the PPD. More recently, Jeri F., also in the Crime Analysis and Research Unit, helped me sort out the “personalities” of Phoenix’s various police precincts and beats. Gayle Millette, of the Phoenix Medical Examiner’s Office, gave me invaluable insights into its workings. I am grateful to all three of them for their generosity, their patience, and their professionalism. Naturally, any errors that remain in my depiction of the Phoenix Police Department or the Medical Examiner’s Office are entirely my own.

  In various stages of preparing the manuscript I have also relied on the expertise of Jennifer Bachman, Larry Jones, and Steve Blount.

  I have received feedback on this book from several people, all of whom helped it become a stronger novel. Stephen Pagel read and commented on an early draft, as did Catriona Sparks and James Frenkel. More recent drafts have benefitted from the insights of Kate Elliott, Edmund S. Schubert, Stephen Leigh, and Faith Hunter. And over my years of working and reworking this book, I have received encouragement from Catie Murphy, Misty Massey, A.J. Hartley, John Hartness, Kalayna Price, and all the wonderful folks at Magical Words.

  I am deeply grateful to Toni Weiskopf, Jim Minz, Tony Daniel, Laura Haywood-Cory, and Gray Rinehart at Baen Books, as well as the great folks in their production, marketing, and art departments. I cannot imagine a better home than Baen for this series. I also want to thank Alan Pollack for the very cool and evocative artwork on the jacket.

  Most of all, I am grateful to my wonderful agent and fabulous friend, Lucienne Diver, who has stuck by me and this novel through all my struggles with it and all my efforts to make it into the book I knew it could be. Lucienne offered terrific feedback on draft after draft and she continued to believe in Jay Fearsson and his world even when I had my doubts. Without her, this book would not have been published.

  Finally, as always, I owe thanks to my beautiful wife and daughters. Without Nancy, Alex, and Erin in my life, nothing else would be worth doing.

  —D.B.C.

  About the Author

  David B. Coe is the Crawford Award-winning author of sixteen novels and the occasional short story. Under his own name he has written three epic fantasy series, as well as the novelization of Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood. As D.B. Jackson, he is the author of the Thieftaker Chronicles, a historical urban fantasy. Spell Blind is the first book in the Case Files of Justis Fearsson. The second novel, His Father’s Eyes, is already in production. David’s books have been translated into a dozen languages. He lives on the Cumberland Plateau with his wife and daughters.