His Father's eyes

CHAPTER 10

The body had been found in Sweetwater Park, adjacent to the Paradise Valley Mall. I called Billie and asked if we could meet a bit later than we had planned. Then I followed Kona and Kevin out to Paradise Valley.

Upon reaching the park, we found squad cars everywhere, a frenzy of flashing blue lights. The cops on the scene had set up a perimeter starting about a block from the park and were directing traffic away from it and away from the mall as well, which couldn’t have been making the shop owners happy. But Kona must have said something to them, because they waved me through without asking me for ID. We drove to the edge of the park and got out to walk the rest of the distance.

The body had been found among a line of trees that formed a boundary between the park and Paradise Village Parkway, which ran around the mall. According to the detective who met us a few yards shy of the trees, no one had touched it. Kona and Kevin stayed with the detective, learning what they could about the person who found the body. I eased closer, peering into the shadows, taking in each new detail as my eyes adjusted to the dim light beneath the trees.

“Hey, what’s he doing?” the detective said.

“He’s all right,” Kona told the guy. “We’ll join him in a minute.”

I’d have to remember later to thank her.

The body was that of an older man, late fifties, maybe early sixties. He was white, with wild gray hair and a rough beard. He wore baggy pants that were held up with a frayed canvas belt, and a pale green T-shirt, stained and torn. His shoes were bound together with silver duct tape.

He had been tied to a small tree. Or rather, he had been forced to wrap his arms around the narrow trunk, and then his hands had been bound together with those plastic cable ties that electricians use. His wrists had been slashed so deeply that his hands hung from his arms at an angle, as if they might fall to the ground at any moment. Dried blood stained his palms and fingers, as well as the earth beneath them. I couldn’t say for certain whether any blood was missing, but I didn’t doubt it for a moment. This was a ritual killing. I could tell from the distorted grimace frozen on the man’s face that he had died in fear and in pain. Tearing my eyes from him, I turned a slow circle in the cool shade, searching for any sign of magic, any glow of a sorcerer’s spell. I saw nothing.

Checking on Kona and the others-they were still talking, though the third detective kept an eye on me-I walked around to the far side of the tree so that I could see the wounds on the victims wrists more clearly. At least that was how it would seem to Kona’s friend.

I squatted down in front of the corpse, bracing my hand on the dirt for balance. I didn’t see much on the wounds beyond what any other cop would see-there was no magic here, either. But as I stood again, I took a pinch of blood-darkened earth between my fingers.

I walked away from the body, deeper into the shadows, and pulled my scrying stone from my pocket. Holding it in my hand, with that bloodied dirt beneath it, I spoke the words of a seeing spell in my head.

The dappled light that had been reflected off the smooth surface of the stone vanished, taking with it those familiar sinuous bands of blue and white, and leaving what appeared at first to be impenetrable darkness. But I heard voices in my head, voices the dead man had heard; at first they were vague, muted. I couldn’t make out their words. Within a few seconds though, they gelled, became more real.

. . . Coming around.

It’s about time. We can’t stay here forever.

Relax, the first voice said. A man, authoritative and used to having people do as he instructed. No one’s going to find us. We have all the time in the world.

Faint light appeared in the stone, vanished, appeared again. In the seeing I had summoned, the dead man was waking up, his eyes fluttering open. He tried to straighten up, but the tree was in his way, his arms were already bound. Despite the darkness, I could see his hands and wrists, which remained whole, at least for now.

A face loomed before him. Dark eyes, a straight nose, and trim beard, all beneath a shock of straight dark hair. A cruel smile played at the man’s lips, dimpling his cheeks.

Wake up, sleepy-head. It’s a beautiful night in the neighborhood.

Who-who are you? the bound man asked. Why are my hands tied? He sounded terrified, and he spoke with a slight lisp.

What’s your name?

J-Jeff.

Well, Jeff, we need your help, and we want to make sure you cooperate. Here, let me give you a hand.

It seemed that Dimples helped him stand straighter. A moment later the victim’s perspective shifted. He could look around with greater ease. He spotted the second man, who stood several feet away. He was taller and broader than Dimples, looming like a bear in the gloom, but I couldn’t make out the details of his face.

Is that better? Dimples asked. When Jeff nodded, he smiled again and said, Good, I’m so glad. Now . . . He brandished a knife, waving the blade in front of the bound man’s eyes. We need to take a bit of blood from you. Is that all right?

Are you fucking nuts? No it’s not all right. Lemme go!

Dimples winced, his brow furrowing. I’m sorry. I should have phrased that differently. We’re going to take your blood. That’s why you’re here and tied to that tree. I didn’t mean to imply that you had any choice in the matter. Forgive me.

Stop fucking around, Bear said from the shadows.

Shut up. I know what I’m doing. To Jeff, he said, This will hurt a bit; quite a lot, really. But with any luck we’ll leave a bit of blood for you. That’s the plan anyway.

The bastard. Fear increased the amount of epinephrine in the blood, and I would have bet every dollar I had that the stronger the fear, the stronger the magical enhancement in a blood spell. Dimples was scaring the guy to make his spell more effective.

Come here, Dimples said.

Bear lumbered toward him.

Please don’t do this, Jeff said, his lisp growing more pronounced. I could see him struggling to free his arms, but the ties held him tight.

Dimples didn’t answer. He’d done what was necessary to make his victim’s fight-or-flight response kick in. But after a moment, he did say, Hold him steady.

Arms appeared in the periphery and took hold of Jeff. Bear was behind him, pinning him to the tree, gripping his forearms to keep the bound man from flinching or thrashing.

Dimples stood in front of them both and glanced past the bound man. His knife flashed in the darkness, gleaming with reflected light, perhaps from a streetlamp.

No! Jeff cried out. Then darkness, and a skirling scream like that of an animal being torn apart by a predator. On and on it went, spiraling into the night.

Shut him up, I heard Dimples say, the command nearly lost within the bound man’s agony.

The screaming was muffled abruptly, though it didn’t stop. I assumed bear had wrapped a hand over Jeff’s mouth.

Dimples cursed and muttered something under his breath. At that point, Jeff’s screams did stop. Moments later, his eyes opened again, his gaze fixing on the gaping wounds at his wrists and the crimson stains on his hands.

Bear stepped out from behind him and moved to stand beside Dimples.

Ready? Dimples asked.

Bear nodded.

Dimples closed his eyes and held out his own hands toward those of the bound man, though he seemed to take care not to touch him. He said nothing; his lips didn’t even move. But seconds later golden light burst from Jeff’s wrists, arcing through the darkness and slamming into Bear’s chest. The big man grunted and staggered back several steps, so that Jeff could no longer see him. Whatever spell Dimples had cast stopped the flow of blood from Jeff’s wrists, but not for long. Moments later, the torrent began again. Jeff’s eyelids drooped-blood loss, terror, pain.

Strange sounds reached him from where Bear had been. Groans, a sharp intake of breath, and a scream of agony much like Jeff’s own. Jeff’s head lolled to that side, his eyes opening once more. Bear was on the ground on all fours, looking like he might be ill. His back arched, his head snapping upward to reveal a bearded face locked in a feral grimace.

Before I could see more, Jeff’s eyes closed again. Seconds later, Bear’s screams faded. I saw nothing else in the stone, heard no more from Jeff or his killers.

Taking a long breath, I slipped the scrying stone back into my pocket and brushed the dirt from my hand. Catching Kona’s eye, I gave a single nod.

She, Kevin, and the other detective spoke for a few moments more before she said, loud enough for me to hear, “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

They walked to where I was standing, the third detective eyeing me once more.

“She says you’re some kind of expert in serial killers,” he said, jerking a thumb in Kona’s direction. “That right?”

“I have some experience with them.”

“Like the Blind Angel.”

“Like that,” I said.

“So what do you see here?”

I didn’t like the guy’s attitude, and I didn’t feel like proving to him that I had the chops to work his case.

“There were two guys here,” I said, talking to Kona and Kevin, and all but ignoring their jerk friend. “One was about my size, the other bigger, heavier. They . . . took some of the victim’s blood, though obviously not all of it.”

“What do you mean took?” the detective asked. “And how do you know how big they were?”

“I told you,” Kona said, “he sees stuff the rest of us miss.” To me, she said, “Do you know what they used the blood for?”

My gaze flicked in the detective’s direction. “Not yet. But I think I know where to start looking.”

“Good. You’ll call when you have more for me?”

I grinned. “Don’t I always?”

She nodded. Kevin winked at me. I headed back to the Z-ster, knowing that our exchange would leave the other detective scratching his head, and not caring one bit.

I drove back to Mesa, the seeing spell replaying in my head like a SportsCenter highlight reel. I’d have no trouble remembering the color of Dimples’s magic, but what had he done to Bear? And what was that scream at the end? It had all the qualities of a magical attack, and yet Dimples had asked if Bear was ready and the big man had signaled that he was. It didn’t make sense.

With midday traffic building throughout the city, I barely made it on time to my rescheduled lunch date with Billie. She was already in the restaurant at our usual table. I kissed her and took the seat opposite hers. Her smile faded as she read my expression.

“Rough day?”

“So far.”

“Your dad?”

It took me a minute to remember my trip out to Wofford; that’s how preoccupied I was with what I’d seen in my scrying stone.

“Yeah, it was a rough night with my dad. And today . . .” I shook my head.

“You said something about Kona needing you, which I’m figuring out never means anything good.”

“It’s not her fault,” I said, hearing the weariness in my voice. “She needed help with a crime scene.”

Billie frowned. “Another one?”

“Yeah. You order yet?”

She studied me for another few seconds before shaking her head.

“Right. I guess it’s my turn to pay, isn’t it?”

Concern lingered in her green eyes.

“I’m all right,” I said, taking her hand. “There’s a lot going on right now, and I’m trying to figure out how much of it is related, and how much is just random crap coming down on me at once.” I fixed a smile on my lips, hoping it would be at least somewhat convincing. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she said. “Thanks to a tip I got from a certain private eye, I’m the toast of the Internet.”

“Well, good. Then order to your heart’s content.”

Her eyes danced. “You sure? I’m thinking about the seafood fajitas.”

I considered the check Amaya had given me the previous night, and the other one I was supposed to retrieve from Nathan Felder. “A fine choice,” I said. “I’m feeling flush right now.”

“Good! Then I’m getting a margarita, too.”

“Don’t you have work to do, Miss Castle?”

She canted her head to the side, her smile turning coy. “I’ve already finished for the day. I was hoping you might have the afternoon free.”

Before I could respond, a waitress came by to take our orders-my usual with a Coke, Billie’s fajitas and margarita.

“So?” she asked when the waitress had gone. “Do you have some time today?”

I exhaled, and her face fell.

“You don’t, do you?”

“I can knock off a little early, but with all I have going on right now, I can’t afford to do more than that.”

“Tell me.”

I couldn’t confide in her as much as I would have liked. I didn’t think she would be any happier about me working for Amaya than Kona would have been. “Well,” I said, “to be honest, I have some questions for you. Off the record.”

“Questions for me?” She grinned, appearing genuinely pleased. “I get to help you with an investigation?”

“I hope so. What do you know about Regina Witcombe?”

She blinked. “Witcombe? I know quite a bit about her. I thought everyone did.”

“Did you know she was on the plane yesterday? In first class, no doubt.”

Billie frowned and shook her head. “She has her own jet, Fearsson. A Gulfstream; and she has a stable of pilots, one of whom is always on call. I think you’ve got your information wrong.”

“She’s listed on the passenger manifest.”

“Maybe it’s a different Regina Witcombe.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You asked me for information about her; I’m telling you what I know. She has a private jet. She might even have more than one.”

Add one more oddity to an already odd investigation.

“On the other hand,” Billie went on after a brief pause, the creases in her forehead deepening, “I did read somewhere that she was in Washington today.”

“Doing what?”

“I think she was appearing before the Senate Finance Committee, to testify against the banking bill.”

“Maybe her plane wasn’t working,” I said. As soon as I spoke the words, they echoed back at me. Could another magically induced mechanical problem have put her on Flight 595?

“Why did Kona ask you to join her at the airport?” Billie asked in a whisper, her hands resting on the table as she leaned toward me.

I stared back at her.

“That’s what I thought. Was the dead guy a weremyste?”

“No,” I said, my voice low. “He was killed with a spell. Kona’s learned to recognize the signs of murder by magic.”

“And today?”

My hesitation didn’t last long. “Another murder with magical connections. Tell me more about Regina Witcombe.”

She shrugged, her cheeks going pale at the mention of the second killing. “She’s president and CEO of a major financial corporation, she has more money than God, she’s smart and combative and ruthless. She also opposes just about every important piece of consumer protection legislation relating to the banking industry that comes before Congress or the state legislature. I’m torn, because it’s kind of nice to see a woman leading a huge multinational finance company: breaking the glass ceiling and all of that. But I really hate everything she stands for.”

“Have you ever heard any whispers about her being odd around the full moon?”

Her mouth fell open. “You think she’s a weremyste?” she asked, leaning in over the table.

“I have a source who says she is.”

“Holy crap!”

I saw a gleam in her eyes that I knew all too well. “We’re still off the record, remember?”

“Damn it! How can you tell me something like that off the record? That’s not fair.”

A quip leaped to mind, something that would make her laugh-I loved the way she laughed. I opened my mouth to speak.

A tingle of magic crawled over my skin, locking the words in my throat, making the hairs on my arms and neck stand on end. I saw no color, but I felt it building. Again I was reminded of the way desert air turned electric in the instant before lightning struck.

“Shit,” I whispered.

“Fearsson?”

And in that moment, the world exploded.

The blast came from out on the street-or at least it seemed to, was meant to seem like it did. Somehow I knew that, understood what the sorcerer intended. Light flashed, blinding, the color of the midday sun. I didn’t have time to shield my eyes before the concussion hit, so loud it swallowed every other sound, so powerful it flung both of us against the restaurant’s back wall, along with our table and chairs. Debris rained down on us: glass from the streetside window, other tables and chairs, other people, plaster from the walls, menus, salt and pepper shakers, bottles of hot sauce.

People screamed in the distance. No. They were screaming in the restaurant, and out on the street in front. But my ears were shot.

“Billie?” I called, unable to see for the dust and smoke.

Magic still danced along my skin. My untouched skin. I realized that I wasn’t in pain. Nothing hurt. No broken bones, no cuts or scrapes or burns. I was fine.

“Billie?” I said again, heart hammering.

And a voice in my head whispered, “A warning. Do not push too hard.”

“Who the hell?”

I didn’t pursue the thought further. Because that was when I saw Billie. A table lay on top of her chest. Blood poured from a cut across her brow. The brow that wrinkled when she was confused, or worried about me, or angry.

“Billie.” I crawled to her, checked her pulse, her breathing. She was alive. A dry sob escaped me. I pushed the table off of her and almost gagged at the sight of her arm. I’d seen compound fractures before, but not on someone I loved.

A warning.

Screw you, whoever the hell you are.

My ears still rang with the force of whatever had hit the restaurant, but I could make out the voices of others crying for help, of moans and sobs. There were people injured throughout what was left of the building. I should have been trying to reach them, giving what aid I could. I was an ex-cop. I knew how to help people, how to keep them calm in the midst of a crisis. I stayed where I was, refusing to leave Billie’s side.

I checked her for other wounds, but saw none. That meant nothing. She could have been bleeding internally. Her breathing seemed okay, maybe somewhat labored. She might have had a collapsed lung.

This is your fault.

The voice was my own this time, inside my head, berating me-I didn’t even know what for. I had no idea what I had done. But it was me and my magic. That was why Billie lay there, covered with blood and plaster dust and shards of glass.

She stirred, winced. “Fearsson?”

As far as I could tell, my name came out as little more than a breath of air. But seeing it on her lips, knowing that she was conscious, struck me as nothing short of miraculous. For the second time in as many days, relief brought tears to my eyes. First my dad, now Billie. That was important in some way. I’d need to figure out how. Later.

“Wha’ happened?” I thought I heard her say.

“Hold still. There’ll be ambulances here soon.”

I knew some healing spells, but not for injuries as severe as hers, and not for wounds I couldn’t see. She said something I couldn’t hear. I made her repeat it.

“My arm hurts. And my head.” Her eyes remained closed, but at least she was making sense.

“I know. Don’t try to move.”

I watched her lips, saw her say, “Felt like a bomb.”

“It did.”

“Are you all right?” She opened her eyes, but then squeezed them shut again. A moment later, she rolled over onto her side and vomited. Concussion.

“My head.”

“I know. You need to stay awake, all right? Keep talking to me.” I listened for sirens, but heard none, not that my hearing was worth a damn yet. I was thinking in slow motion. I pulled out my phone and dialed nine-one-one.

When the dispatcher came on, her voice paper thin to my ringing ears, I told her where we were, and that there had been an explosion.

“We have responders on our way to you already, sir. Are you hurt?”

“I’m not, but my friend is. A head wound and a compound fracture. And there are others injured as well. Lots.”

“Ambulances are on their way.”

“Good, thank you.”

“I’m going to keep you on the line until they arrive.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Fearsson?”

“I’m right here, Billie.”

“What happened?” I saw her ask again.

“I’m not sure.” A version of the truth. I said nothing about magic, telling myself that I didn’t want to worry her. But I was scared-scared that I had gotten her hurt, scared that I couldn’t protect her if whoever had attacked us decided he or she wanted to do more than make threats.

I heard the words again-A warning. Do not push too hard-and realized for the first time that they had been spoken in a woman’s voice. Low, gravelly; it might have been sexy, if not for the words and circumstances. She’d had an accent as well: not quite British. Irish maybe, or Scottish? Who the hell?

“Was it a bomb?” She was repeating herself, sounding disoriented. That was the head wound, and also the fact that she was probably going into shock. Her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow.

“I don’t know. It might have been. Have you been near a bombing before?” I was babbling, keeping her talking.

“No.”

I heard sirens at last. “The ambulances are here,” I told her.

“Okay.”

I repeated this into the phone to the dispatcher. She wished me good luck and ended the call.

Several ambulances pulled up to Solana’s with a squeal of brakes and the dying wail of sirens. Moments later, EMTs entered the wrecked building and fanned out with a crackle of walkie-talkies. My hearing was improving. It took several minutes more before one of the responders finally reached Billie and me. He was no more than a kid-probably a student at ASU. I couldn’t have cared less.

“Who do we have here?” he asked me, kneeling beside her.

“Her name’s Billie. She has a compound fracture of the right ulna, and I’m pretty sure she has a concussion as well.”

“All right. What about you?”

“I’m fine.”

He paused, eyed me from head to toe. “Damn. You were lucky.”

“I guess.”

“Okay, then,” he said, attention on Billie once more. “We’ll take care of her.” He called over one of his fellow EMTs and didn’t say another word to me.

I backed away, giving the two of them room to work, listening as they talked to Billie, asking her questions about her medical history and who they should put down as her next of kin.

At that, she opened her eyes and pointed at me.

I couldn’t help but smile, even as my throat constricted to the point where I could barely breathe. I gave them my name, cell number, and home number.

Over the next several minutes, working with quiet efficiency, they immobilized her arm and strapped her onto a stretcher with her head and neck braced, in case she had a spinal injury.

“Fearsson?” she called as they raised the stretcher and began to wheel her out.

“I’m here,” I said. I asked the EMT, “Where are you taking her?”

“Banner Desert.”

I nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Billie. All right? Do whatever the doctors tell you to.”

“Fearsson? You’ll come see me?” She looked pale, small, afraid.

“Of course I will.”

She held tight to my hand even as they started again to lead her away.

“I promise,” I said. “You’ll see me before you know it.”

She let go of me, our fingers brushing as they wheeled her beyond my grasp. She’d be in surgery for a while and would probably sleep for some time after that. I had a few hours before I needed to be at Banner Desert Medical Center. And until then, I had work to do.

The previous night, I’d told Jacinto Amaya that I wanted no part of his magical war. Well, I was in it now, up to my eyeballs. And whoever had done this to Billie was going to be sorry they had come at me with nothing more than a warning and a magical bomb.