His Father's eyes

CHAPTER 15

I gaped at him. Cahors’s betrayal was one thing, but to lose another runemyste . . . I didn’t know how that was possible.

“What happened? Did another of your kind . . . go over to the dark side?”

I regretted the wording as soon as I said it. Fortunately Namid rarely caught my pop culture references.

“No,” he said. “As far as I know, there was no betrayal. At least not as you mean it. A runemyste was murdered.”

Which was far, far worse.

“Do you know who did it? Or how?”

“We do not know. We know only that one of her weremystes was killed as well. They died together, perhaps battling a necromancer and his or her servants.”

“How does one even kill a runemyste?” I asked.

Namid turned my way, his expression unreadable. “None but another runemyste can do it, and even that would be no small feat. I might slay one of my brethren, but I would have to vanquish him in what would be a great and terrible battle.”

“But a necromancer has as much power as you do, right?”

“A necromancer has power to harm your world and to craft spells that would seem as powerful as mine. But the Runeclave made my kind centuries ago. We are creatures of magic, elemental. We cannot be destroyed so easily.”

“And yet, one of you was.”

“Yes,” he said, the word coming out as flat and hard as a river stone.

By now we had reached the Phoenix-Wickenburg Highway. I hadn’t seen another silver sedan or sensed the presence of the necromancer since Namid appeared in my car. He might not have been willing to act on the human world, but merely by staying with me, he was keeping me safe. I almost said something to this effect, but I didn’t want him leaving, so I kept my mouth shut.

I followed the highway to Wofford and soon reached the rutted road leading into my father’s place. Namid remained beside me in the passenger seat, his watery face impassive, his hands resting on his thighs.

I stopped near the trailer and switched off the engine, but I didn’t open the door right away.

“When was the last time my father saw you?” I asked.

“It has been many years.”

“So this might not go so well.”

“I have always been fond of Leander Fearsson, and I believe he was fond of me. Even with the moon sickness, I do not believe he will be displeased to see me.”

I didn’t feel that I could argue the point without being rude, and I really did want Namid to see firsthand what my Dad was going through. But I was less convinced than the myste that this would prove to be a great idea.

I climbed out of the car and closed the door, expecting Namid to do the same. But when I turned, he was already standing beside me. I jumped, hissing a curse. The passenger door had never opened.

My father sat in his chair, staring across the desert, flinching every few seconds. I could see that he was muttering to himself. He seemed to have on clean clothes, but he wasn’t wearing socks. Mixed signals.

“Try not to startle him,” I said, my heart still hammering as I began walking toward my dad. Namid followed.

At first my father took no notice of us. And why should he? Each time I’d come to see him, he’d been in a similar state and had largely ignored me until I spoke to him or checked his forehead for fever. But Namid and I hadn’t been there for more than a minute-I’d barely had time to pull out a second lawn chair-when my dad’s flinching ceased and he looked up, first at me and then at the runemyste.

“They left,” he said, his gaze lingering on Namid, his voice rough with disuse. “They sensed you, and they left.”

Namid frowned. “I had hoped to observe you under their influence, perhaps to learn something of their nature.”

“Their nature is they’re afraid of runemystes.”

“How are you feeling?” I asked him, stooping to kiss his brow.

“Hungry.”

“You’re always hungry when I get here.”

My dad grinned. “You always feed me.” He canted his head in Namid’s direction. “What made you bring the ghost?”

“I am not a ghost!” Namid said, in a voice like pounding surf.

I laughed.

“You Fearsson men share a most peculiar sense of humor.”

“I guess that still gets him riled, doesn’t it?”

“Did I learn it from you?” I asked. I was still smiling; no one enjoyed humor at the runemyste’s expense more than I did. But there was something a little weird about it, too. It was like finding out that my Dad and I once had the same teacher in high school, or the same girlfriend, but without the “ick” factor. Ridiculous as I knew it would seem to the runemyste, I had long considered Namid my mentor-mine, and no one else’s. I found it hard to imagine him training another weremyste, especially a younger version of my father.

“Seriously, Justis. Why’d you bring him here? Did you know it would make them leave me alone?”

I shook my head. “I’d love to tell you I’m that clever, but I’m not. He asked about you, and I told him I was on my way here. He came along.”

My dad shifted his gaze to Namid. “You must have known what would happen when you showed up.”

“I did not. I was not entirely certain that your suffering was anything more than delusion.”

“Thanks a lot,” Dad said, his tone as dry as a Sonoran wind.

“You should know that Ohanko insisted that it was real.”

“Ohanko?”

“That’s what he calls me,” I said. “It means ‘reckless one.’”

Dad narrowed his eyes. “What was it you used to call me? Lokni, right?”

The myste’s waters rippled gently. “Yes. It was also a name born of frustration. You were as stubborn as your son, and even more likely to chance upon danger.”

“You were also a better runecrafter,” I said. I waved a hand at Namid. “He’s told me so several times.”

Dad looked away, following the flight of a red-tailed hawk with his eyes. “That’s okay. You’re stronger than I ever was. You got that from your mother.”

I shared a quick glance with the myste.

“Tell me what has been done to you, Leander Fearsson.”

Dad’s mouth twisted sourly. “You want me to waste your time with delusions?”

“I no longer believe them to be delusions. Delusions do not flee at the arrival of a runemyste.”

My father’s gaze found me. After a moment he nodded and launched into a description of the psychic and physical torture to which he’d been subjected over the past couple of weeks. I had pieced together most of it from his ramblings and the few coherent minutes we’d shared during my previous visits. But hearing as a single narrative all that he had endured-the pain inflicted on his body, sometimes for days uninterrupted, and the images from his past forced into his mind-made my hands shake with rage. I wanted to turn my magic on whoever had done all of this to him.

He repeated himself some-he was relatively lucid, particularly when compared to what I’d seen recently, but he was still a burned out old weremyste. After a while I went inside the trailer to make him a sandwich. When I came back out again and handed him the plate, he was still rambling.

“There was nothing random about it,” he said, as he had several minutes before. He took a bite of his sandwich and added for my benefit, “It probably seemed pretty random from the outside. They were testing me, almost like they wanted to see what hurt the most.”

“You talked about the burning a lot. Was that the worst?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging and talking around a mouthful of food. “It all hurt. The burns, knife points, bludgeoning. And then there was the emotional stuff.” He faced me again. “They dredged up memories of your mother, threatened to hurt you, took me back to my worst memories of when I was on the job.”

“To what end?” Namid asked. As far as I knew, it was the first thing the myste had said since my father began his story.

“I don’t know.”

“They threatened Ohanko. Did they say more about him?”

Dad raked fingers through his white hair, so that it stood on end. “Like I said, they talked about hurting him, because they knew that would hurt me. But the rest . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“You heard voices,” I said, remembering the message I’d gotten at Solana’s just as the restaurant blew up. “Male or female?”

“Both. Female mostly. One in particular. But others, too.” He attempted a smile but managed only a grimace. “There have been a lot of people in my head.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that last, so I focused on the first thing he’d said. “The woman’s voice: low, gravelly, kind of sexy even?”

“You’ve heard her, too?”

“I think she blew up that restaurant I was in with Billie.”

His eyes widened, and I had the sense that he didn’t remember me mentioning this before. “She’s all right? Billie, I mean?”

“She’s getting better. I’ll let her know that you asked.”

Dad nodded. I could tell he was overwhelmed by all of this: Namid’s appearance, the news about Billie, all he had been through with the dark mystes. Maybe it had been a mistake to let him see the runemyste.

“Very well, Leander Fearsson.” The myste paused, pain lurking in his glowing eyes. “I must leave you. And I fear that when I do, those who have done this to you will return.”

“I’ll stay with him.”

“No, you won’t,” my dad said, growling the words. “You have work to do, don’t you?”

I hesitated.

“Yeah, I thought so. And you, ghost, you have stuff to do, too. Important stuff.”

“Dad-”

“Justis, you can’t babysit me!” He huffed a breath and tried with little success to smooth his hair. “You can’t stay here forever,” he went on after a few moments, his tone less strident. “And you’ve already made things better.”

“But for how long?”

“For all of it,” he said. “I mean that. Even when they’re doing their worst, I still have a shred of myself to hold on to. And knowing that you believe me, that both of you do . . . That’s worth something.”

I could do more good back in the city, following up on the few leads I had. I knew this. But the thought of leaving him to these bastards was more than I could handle.

He saw me struggling and managed a smile that broke my heart. “Go. I’ll be all right.”

“I’ll be back. I’ll try to come tonight; tomorrow at the latest.”

“Good. Bring more ice cream.”

I stood, hugged him, and put my chair back.

“Farewell, Lokni. Be well.”

“Take care of him, Namid,” Dad said.

“I will do what I can.”

Before the myste could leave, I said, “Ride with me back to the city. I have a few more questions for you.” At Namid’s frown, I added, “Please.”

“For a short while.”

I climbed back into the Z-ster. When I glanced toward the passenger seat, the myste was already there, his waters still and clear.

I held my tongue until we were away from the trailer and back on the main road through Wofford.

“So?” I asked.

Sometimes Namid could be pretty dense, and I half expected him to act like he didn’t know what I was asking. But this time at least, he answered the question.

“I believe that he has been under siege from necromancers,” he said. “That is the lone explanation for what I saw and what he told us. But I do not know what they hope to gain by causing him pain. Forgive me, but he is an old man and represents neither a threat to them nor a prize to be won. You, on the other hand, are a formidable enemy and, potentially, a valuable ally.”

“I’d never ally myself with necromancers.”

“You and I know this to be true; they do not. And they may believe that by using your father in this way, they can manipulate you.”

As much as I hated to admit it, that made a good deal of sense.

“Is there more you wish to ask me?”

A part of me simply wanted an excuse to keep Namid around. The necromancers had fled my father’s mind as soon we showed up, and the rhymes-with-witch who warned me at Solana’s and tried to crush my heart on the Sun Valley Parkway-the one who, as it happened, was also tormenting my father-had made herself scarce since the myste’s arrival. He was like a good luck charm.

I couldn’t keep him here forever, but as it happened, I did have another question for him.

“The runemyste you mentioned before, the one who was murdered-where did that happen? And when?”

It was a stab in the dark, nothing more. And yet, somehow I knew what he would tell me.

“She was killed within the last two days; we do not know exactly when. And the body of the weremyste was found in what you would call Northern Virginia, near-”

“Washington, D.C.”

The myste’s gleaming eyes bored into me like lasers. “You knew this?”

“I guessed.”

“Guessed,” he repeated.

“An educated guess.” I gave him the Reader’s Digest history of Flight 595, and, without mentioning Amaya’s name, told him what little I’d learned about Regina Witcombe and Patty Hesslan-Fine.

“This could be coincidence,” Namid said in a way that told me he didn’t believe it was.

“It’s not,” I said. “I would never argue with you when it comes to crafting spells. You’re the expert. But this other stuff-this is what I do. These are not coincidences. It’s all connected in some way. Dark magic killed your fellow runemyste at the same time these two women were in that part of the country. And as soon as I started investigating them, a necromancer blew up my girlfriend and tried to kill me on a lonely stretch of highway.”

He faced forward again, his features ice-hard. “I will make inquiries among my kind,” he said.

“I’ll do the same.”

“If you can help us identify the dark ones responsible, you would be doing us a great service. But you must tread like the fox, Ohanko.”

“Don’t I always?”

He faced me again. “No, you do not. Most times you are reckless and foolish. You place yourself in danger more often than I care to consider. But you cannot be so careless with this. Necromancers hate my kind with a blinding passion; it consumes them, driving all that they do. In pursuit of victory over the Runeclave, they would think nothing of killing weremystes and humans. You must exercise more caution than usual.”

“I will,” I said, sobered less by his words than the gravity with which he spoke them. I didn’t often see Namid frightened; it wasn’t a pretty sight.

The myste nodded once, and vanished. I had to resist an urge to drive home and hide under my bed with my Glock and every magical herb I had in the house. Instead, I pulled out my phone and called Kona at home. Driving and dialing again; I hated myself a little. But I couldn’t bring myself to pull over. As it was, I expected at any moment to feel that clawed hand take hold of my heart once more.

Margarite answered and after a bit of chit-chat, told me that Kona was at 620, despite it being close to four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Between the murder at Sky Harbor Airport, the attack on Solana’s, and the murders committed by Dimples and his weremancer friends, she, Kevin, and the rest of the Phoenix Police Department had plenty to keep them busy 24/7.

I didn’t bother calling her at 620 from the highway; I just drove into the city.

Somehow, I made it downtown without being killed or run off the road by a silver sedan. I parked near 620 and called Kona’s number as I walked to police headquarters. She answered on the second ring.

“Shaw.”

“Hey, partner.”

“Well, if it isn’t the television star.”

It took me a minute to remember my on-air temper tantrum outside of Solana’s. “Oh, right.”

“That was must-see TV, Justis. Hibbard in particular gave you rave reviews.”

“Billie and I were in there. She almost died.”

“I know,” she said, the sarcasm leaching out of her voice. “I’m sorry. How’s she doing?”

“Last time I saw her she was doing okay, improving. Listen, I’m parked nearby. Can you come down? We have a lot to talk about.”

“I’m pretty much slammed right now. Two terrorist attacks in less than a week, not to mention that murder in Sweetwater Park-even with the federal boys taking over the lion’s share of the airport and bombing investigations, I have more than enough to keep me up nights, know what I’m saying?”

“The attack on Solana’s wasn’t a bombing. It was magic. I should have told you sooner, but-”

“You think?” she demanded, voice spiraling upward again. “That would have been helpful information!”

“And I’m ready to tell you everything I can. But I think we’d be better off talking about it outside of 620.”

She heaved a sigh. “Should I bring Kevin?”

“Sure, why not? The more the merrier, right?”

“Where are you?”

“I’ll be right across the street.”

“We’ll be down in five.”

It didn’t even take them that long. Kona was uncharacteristically sheepish as they crossed the street and approached me.

It was Kevin who said, “She’s sorry for how she was on the phone.”

“He your spokesman now?”

“Probably should be,” Kona said. “I am sorry. Billie was hurt, you’ve probably been working on this night and day since it happened. And I should have guessed from the way you were on television that it wasn’t an ordinary bombing. You know better than to talk to the press. But a spell aimed at you and your woman-that would throw anyone off their game.”

“Thanks.” I glanced at Kevin. “Both of you.”

“What you can you tell us?” Kona asked.

“Not much right now. There seems to be dark magic flowing in every direction, and I don’t know what to do with it all. The body at Sweetwater Park, some weird stuff happening with my father, the attack on Solana’s. And those don’t even cover the worst of it.”

“I know I’m going to regret asking this,” Kona said. “But what’s the worst of it?”

“One of Namid’s kind was murdered in the last day or so.”

Kona’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t think they were mortal.”

“Namid’s the ghost-thing you told me about the other day, right?” Kevin asked. “The one who helps you train?”

Namid would hate the description, but I didn’t see any point in correcting him.

“That’s right.” To Kona I said, “I didn’t know they were mortal, either. Even Namid is at a loss to explain what happened. But somehow one was killed. I’m wondering if you’ve had any reason to investigate Regina Witcombe since I left the force.”

“Witcombe,” Kevin said. “Don’t tell me she’s into magic, too.”

“Dark magic, from what I hear.”

“Shit, Justis. This keeps getting better and better.” Kona closed her eyes, rubbed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “No, I haven’t had anything to do with the woman. Neither has anyone else on the force as far as I know. I’ve been convinced for years that she had her husband killed, but we were never-” Her hand dropped to her side. “We were never able to prove it. And now you’re telling me that she’s a myste, too.” She shook her head. “Well, at least now I know how she got away with it.”

“Any new leads on the Sweetwater Park murder?” I asked.

She shook her head. “We’ve got nothing. I was going to ask you the same thing. What can you tell me about what happened at Solana’s?”

I gazed across the street at 620. “It was aimed at me. I heard someone speak to me after the explosion. ‘A warning. Do not push too hard.’ That’s what she said.”

“She? You think it was Witcombe?”

“No, I don’t. I think Regina Witcombe is a weremyste. Like me, but richer, and into dark magic. I think Solana’s was attacked by someone who’s more on Namid’s level.”

“So it was aimed at you,” Kevin said, studying me with a critical eye. “And yet your girlfriend’s the one who’s in the hospital.”

“Kevin!” Kona said.

“He’s right. That might be the weirdest part of it. Nothing happened to me. Nothing at all. I didn’t so much as tear a fingernail. No cuts, no bruises, no burns.” Kona glanced at my jaw. “I got the bruise elsewhere,” I told her. “I’m serious: Nothing happened to me at the restaurant. Someone blew up Solana’s to send me a message, and at the same time did everything in her power to keep me safe.”

The words echoed in my head. Kona asked me something, but I didn’t hear her. I was remembering the touch of magic dancing along my skin the instant before the explosion, and also the tickle of magic I’d felt before Mark Darby shot at me. There should have been some residue of power on me after both episodes. That there wasn’t must have meant something.

“There’s no residue on my dad, either,” I whispered.

“What are you talking about? Are you all right?”

My gaze snapped to Kona’s face. “This wasn’t the first time she saved me,” I said. “The night before, I was working on a case and nearly got myself shot. By all rights, I should have died. But someone cast a spell that saved my life. I still don’t know who.”

“So there’s some weremyste out there-”

“I told you: She’s not a weremyste. She’s too powerful for that.”

“All right. Some magical entity. And she’s doing everything she can to keep you alive, while at the same time blowing up your favorite restaurant and the woman you love with it.”

“Sounds a little crazy doesn’t it?”

Kevin exhaled. “I’m glad you said that, and not me.”

“Welcome to life with Justis,” Kona said. “Crazy just follows him around.”

“I need to speak with Witcombe,” I said, “and I’m not sure how best to get close to her.”

Kevin gave a small shake of his head. “She has a security detail. A good one. If she doesn’t want to talk to you, you won’t get past them.”

Kona and I exchanged glances. She grinned.

It was like a light bulb went on over Kevin’s head. “Unless you happen to have magic.”

“You don’t know her address in Paradise Valley, do you?”

“No!” Kona said. “Talking about this is one thing. Giving you an address so that you can go harass arguably the most influential woman in the city? That’s something else entirely.”

“She was on the plane.”

For the second time in about five minutes, Kona stared at me as if I’d sprouted wings and flown over 620. “By ‘the plane,’ you mean . . .”

“Flight 595. For all I know, she killed Jimmy Howell. Then she flew to Washington, and within twenty-four hours of her arrival there, one of Namid’s fellow runemystes was murdered in-wait for it-Northern Virginia.”

She pursed her lips.

“Does that change things a little?” I asked.

“Not as much as you’d think. In case you’ve forgotten, the PPD doesn’t investigate murders of runemystes, or, for that matter, murders that take place two thousand miles beyond the state border.”

“And the plane?”

“There were lots of people on the plane. We have no evidence whatsoever-at least none that’s admissible-implicating Regina Witcombe in either murder or sabotage. Add to that the fact that the FBI guys practically claw out our eyes anytime someone from the department gets near their desks, and there’s really not much I can do for you.”

I nodded. I could call back Sally Peters, who had access to the real estate databases, but I was sure her company would frown on her giving out private information, too.

“Of course,” Kona went on a moment later, “a woman like Witcombe is probably at her office more often than she’s at home, even on a Saturday. And corporate addresses are easy to find, even for a private investigator.”

Kevin snorted.

I lifted an eyebrow. “I’d thought of going to her office. But I figure that’s where I’m most likely to encounter that security detail Kevin mentioned. She might relax a bit at home.”

Kona frowned. “I hate it when he’s right.”

“If I find something, you know I’ll bring it to you. Wouldn’t you like to beat the FBI guys at their own game?”

“Go back inside, Kevin.”

Kevin’s face fell. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing,” Kona said, rounding on him. “I’m trying to protect your ass. If I get caught doing something wrong, I want you to be able to swear on a stack of Bibles that you knew nothing about it. Now get back to work.”

His eyes narrowed a bit, and his expression hardened. But after a moment his gaze flicked in my direction. “Jay.”

“See you later, Kevin.”

He said nothing to Kona before walking away, crossing the street and entering 620. Once Kona couldn’t see him anymore, she faced me again.

“I’ll get you Witcombe’s address. I’ll call you with it. But I don’t like this.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t either.”

She dipped her chin. “I believe that. Twice now you’ve mentioned your father. What’s he got to do with this?”

“I wish I knew. He’s been . . . someone’s been hurting him, using magic to . . . to do I-don’t-even-know-what. I don’t understand what’s happening to him, but I’d bet everything I own that it’s tied in some way to the rest of this.”

Her lips pursed again, and I could tell what she was thinking.

“You’re taking a lot on faith. I appreciate that.”

“I was thinking that the full moon’s only a couple of days away, and you get a little funny even before the phasings start.”

“Is that a polite way of suggesting that I might be imagining all of this?”

“No,” she said. “I’m sure that it’s all happening the way you say it is. But this strikes me as a little odd-you’re hearing voices, your father is suffering-”

“You mean, my father the nutcase.”

“And then there’s the plane, and Solana’s. And even that bit about you almost getting shot. What is all this, Justis?”

I shook my head and started to answer, but she held up a hand, stopping me.

“Kevin’s inside. This is just you and me. And I’m asking if there’s more to this than you’re saying.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer. If she thought the rest of it sounded over the top, how would she react when I started talking about a magical war? But I thought again of Jacinto Amaya and how I’d kept from her that he was my source on the role of dark magic in the ritual killings she and Kevin were investigating. The last thing I wanted was to alienate her further with more secrets.

“Yeah, there is,” I told her. “We seem to be on the brink of . . . well, of a kind of magical civil war.”

She blinked. “That doesn’t sound so good.”

“It’s not. When runemystes start dying, you know that things are headed in a bad direction.”