His Father's eyes

CHAPTER 17

I thought they would have to carry me-or have the guards do it. What they did instead was infinitely worse.

“Get up,” Patty said, her voice echoing in my head.

I stared at her, wanting to tell her she was nuts, that obviously I was incapable of sitting up, much less getting to my feet.

But even as these thoughts flashed through my mind, I rolled onto my hands and knees and pushed myself up. My vision swam, and I felt like I was going to pass out, but I didn’t sway.

“Get it now?” Patty said. “Pick up the knife.” Again, the command reverberated in my head, the power lashing at me.

God knew I didn’t want to do it. Her control spell had wiped the blade free of blood, but her fingerprints were still on the hilt, and that was the only way I’d be able to prove that she, and not I, had killed Heather.

“By the hilt,” she said.

I bent and picked it up.

“Grip it the way you would if you were about to stab someone.”

I fought her with every ounce of strength I possessed. The effort should have been enough to make my muscles tremble, my pulse race. But I had the feeling that no one watching me would have noticed at all. I wrapped my fingers around the handle, which was made of some dark, polished wood.

Etienne de Cahors had used similar magic against me when I fought him, but somehow this was worse. Patty and Witcombe were weremystes, like me. They shouldn’t have been strong enough to control me with such ease.

“Now,” Patty said, voice echoing, “hold that blade to my throat.”

I did as she said, laying the honed edge along her neck just below her jaw line. She showed no fear at all. Her smile, the look in her eyes: She was as sure of her power over me as she was of her own name.

“You’d like to kill me, wouldn’t you?” she said, her voice low, so that only I could hear. “It wouldn’t take much; a flick of your wrist, and I’d probably be dead before anyone could stop the bleeding. But you can’t do it, because you belong to me, completely, utterly, without hope of reprieve. You can fight me all you like. You can try to cast spells, you can resist until your heart bursts within your chest. It won’t matter. Our spell will hold you until you’re dead.”

Or until you are. I wanted to scream the words at her. Nothing.

“Put the knife in your pocket.”

I slipped it into the inside pocket of my bomber, despising myself.

“What about her?” Witcombe asked, gawping down at Heather’s body, her cheeks ashen.

Patty eyed me in a way that made my stomach clench. “Jay will carry her out to his car and put her in the back. We’ll decide what to do with her later.” She faced Witcombe. “But first you need to clear out your guards. Too much to explain if they see us with the girl’s body.

Witcombe eyed me. “But won’t-?”

“Jay’s not going anywhere without my permission. We don’t need the guards right now. We need privacy.”

Witcombe nodded and hurried into the house.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Patty said, gazing after her. She waved a hand toward the view. “To the rest of world, she’s a corporate giant, one of the most powerful women in the country. But as you can see, she’s a bit pathetic. She’s handy to have around-all that money, you know. But otherwise she isn’t good for much. And before long, I’ll have access to enough income that we won’t even need her for that. For now, though, in our circles-yours and mine-she answers to me. Just like you do. Stay here. Don’t move.”

She went back into the house, and emerged a short while later with a drink. It smelled like Scotch. She sat in the chair I’d used a short while before and sipped her drink, ignoring me.

And still I fought, straining at the invisible bonds that held me, desperate to lift a hand, to grab hold of that knife again, to kill Patty and escape to my car. I felt a tickle of sweat on my temple and couldn’t even wipe it away.

We’re going to use him to kill his runemyste.

I had no idea how they planned to make me do this. The day before, I would have sworn that Patty was delusional, because I knew with the conviction of the ignorant that runemystes couldn’t be killed.

Thanks to Namid, I now knew better. And thanks to Patty, I understood in the vaguest sense how it might be possible. What had Namid said when I asked how his fellow runemyste died?

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.

What if they hadn’t been fighting side by side, but instead had battled each other? What if the weremyste had been controlled, just as I was now, and had been used as a weapon against the runemyste?

I wouldn’t know how to kill Namid. Surely I didn’t have the power to defeat him in magical combat. But he trusted me, as I trusted him. I could get close to him, enable someone who wielded as weapons my body and my runecrafting to strike a killing blow.

Is that what Patty and Witcombe had done to the runemyste in Virginia?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Patty said, without turning. Then she laughed. She swiveled in her chair to face me and narrowed her eyes. “Why do you have a runemyste? I’ve felt your magic now, and it doesn’t strike me as being terribly powerful. And yet, from what I’ve been told, a runemyste has taken interest in you. He’s training you. So he must see some potential that I’m missing. And you did kill Cahors, though I’d wager that was more dumb luck than anything else.”

The door swung open once more and Witcombe bustled out onto the patio. “They’re gone for now. The ones around the house, that is. There are still men at the guardhouse, but I assume that’s all right.”

Patty regarded me for a moment longer. “Yes, that should be fine. Jay and I will take his car. You’ll follow us.”

“Where are we going?”

“His house, I think.”

“And . . . and Heather?”

“I told you, we’ll work that out later. But I think that Jay’s status as city hero is about to end. A messy murder-suicide with a pretty young thing like Heather should do the trick.” She drained her Scotch and levered herself out of the chair. “Pick her up,” she said, her voice taking on that echoing quality once more.

I lifted Heather’s body into my arms and then slung her over my shoulder.

“Very good. We’re heading out to your car now. You’re going to follow Regina through the house, doing exactly as she says.” She stepped forward and reached a hand into my jeans pocket, her eyes finding mine once more, a mocking leer on her lips. She pulled out my car keys and held them up for me to see. “Go,” she said to Witcombe.

The word didn’t echo as her commands did in my head, but they had the same effect. Witcombe made her way through the house, and I followed. She glanced back at me every few seconds, acting like she was afraid to have me so close to her – or perhaps afraid of the corpse I carried. My eyes scanned the furniture as we walked. Even knowing that I was helpless, I searched for something I could use as a weapon or a distraction. Not that I could take advantage of either. I followed, as dutiful as a trained puppy.

Once we were outside, Patty had me halt and wait as she opened the back hatch of the Z-ster.

“Put her in here.”

I laid Heather’s body down in the back, taking care not to let the little bit of blood on her neck touch the upholstery. The significance of this wasn’t lost on me. Patty hadn’t told me how I should position the body, and so I could put her in there any way I wanted. As loopholes went it wasn’t much. But maybe I wasn’t completely helpless after all.

“Get in the car.” The command echoed as had the others. “And drive us back to your home, obeying all traffic rules, taking the most direct route possible, and doing nothing to draw undue attention to your car or to us.”

I climbed into the car on the driver’s side, sifting through her words for something-anything-that I could do, within the constraints of her instructions, to gain the upper hand. Nothing came to me. She had been specific enough to keep me on task, and general enough to leave no loopholes. I had the sense that she had done something like this several times before.

I drove back to Chandler with Regina Witcombe trailing me in her silver Mercedes. Thanks to Patty, I was the model driver, hitting the speed limits dead on, using my directionals for every lane change and every turn. Anyone who knew me well enough to have driven with me would have realized straight away that something was wrong; I wasn’t this good a driver. But to the strangers on Phoenix’s freeways, I was just another grunt in a car, following the rules and driving in the slow lane.

As we neared my house, my cell phone rang. I couldn’t reach for it, or even glance Patty’s way to gauge what she wanted me to do.

On the second ring, she reached over and took the phone from my jacket pocket.

“Kona Shaw,” she said.

My heart leaped.

“She was your partner when you were a cop, wasn’t she?” She dropped the phone into the tray behind the stick shift. “That’s a call you won’t be taking.”

Fine with me, I wanted to say. I always took Kona’s calls. She’d try again, and if I didn’t answer a second time, she’d come looking for me.

I felt Patty’s eyes on me, and I wondered if mastering my body in this way also allowed her to read my emotions. Or maybe she was simply too smart for my own good.

“Except that you probably take her calls all the time, don’t you? I’ve heard that partners on the force get very close. It’s practically like a marriage. If she calls again, you’ll have to answer.”

Call again, Kona.

The sun had gone down by the time I navigated the streets of Chandler to my house. It hadn’t gotten completely dark yet, but it wouldn’t be long. I parked in the driveway and sat, waiting for Patty’s next set of commands. Glancing at my rearview mirror, I saw Witcombe’s car glide to a stop by the curb in front of my house.

Patty took my keys from the ignition. “You’re going to get out, shut the car door, and walk to the door of your house acting like nothing is the matter. You’ll allow me to unlock your front door. If a neighbor calls to you, you’ll wave and smile before continuing to the house. Now get out.”

I opened my door, climbed out of the Z-ster, and closed the car door. Patty joined me, and we walked to the house. She unlocked the door, pushed it open, and waved me inside. “Go in and stop in the middle of the first room. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

I walked into the house and did as instructed. She was too good at this, too thorough. I needed help.

And as we waited for Witcombe to join us, I got it.

My cell rang again. Patty still held the phone, and she checked the incoming number, frowning. “It’s Shaw.”

“Who’s Shaw?” Witcombe asked as she entered the house.

“Fearsson’s partner on the police force. This is the second time she’s called.”

“Ignore it.”

Patty shook her head. “She’ll keep calling.” She held up the phone for me to see as it rang a second time, but didn’t hand it to me right away.

“You’re going to talk to her, but tell her nothing about us or what I’ve done to you. You’ll keep your tone casual, and you’ll say nothing about being in trouble or needing help.” A third ring. She handed me the phone. “Now answer, on speaker.”

I opened it, unable to refuse. But on the inside I was doing cartwheels. Patty’s commands had been rushed, because she didn’t want Kona to get no answer a second time. She’d left loopholes all over the place.

“Fearsson,” I said.

“Hey, partner. Where have you been?” Kona’s voice sounded thin and tinny on the tiny speakers, but I’d never been so happy to hear her.

“Busy day,” I said. “I’ve been all over.”

“Did you get out to Paradise Valley?”

Patty and Witcombe shared a look.

“Yes, I did. Thanks again. Tell Hibbard thanks, too.”

Kona’s pause was a split second longer than it ought to have been. I wasn’t sure that Patty would notice, but I certainly did. Kona knew something was wrong. “I’ll tell him,” she said. “He’s gone for the day, but I’ll tell him. Where are you now?”

“Lie to her.” Patty mouthed the words, lending only enough breath to make them chime in my mind.

But I felt the compulsion; I was incapable of telling Kona I was at home. Once more, though, haste had made Patty careless.

“I’m with Billie at her place.”

“Nice. Tell her ‘hi’ for me.”

“I will.”

“Listen, I just called to let you know that we’ve cleared the Sweetwater Park case. We won’t be needing your help on that anymore.”

“Good for you, Kona. Glad to hear it.”

Message received. I’d told her a whopper, and she had come back at me with the same. She knew I was in trouble.

“Thanks. I guess I’ll talk to you next week.”

“Sounds good.”

I snapped the phone shut. Patty took it out of my hand and tossed it onto my couch. “That was well done. You see how easy this is when you follow directions?”

I stared back at her, hoping that she would see rage and impotence in my glower.

“We need to hurry. In case that conversation wasn’t as innocent as it sounded.” Patty glanced toward the windows that faced out onto the street. “Close those blinds.”

She didn’t say it as a magical command, so I remained as I was. Patty glanced Witcombe’s way. “Now!”

“I thought you meant him.”

As Witcombe lowered the blinds, Patty said to me, “Usually we do this with weremystes who have already been turned to our cause. We don’t have that kind of time with you. Not anymore. So we’ll have to try a different way. Take off your jacket and your shirt, and then retrieve my knife from your jacket pocket.”

I had forgotten I was carrying it. I shrugged off my bomber and pulled off my shoulder holster and T-shirt. Then I took the blade out of the jacket pocket and held it out to her.

She didn’t take it from me. “Grip the knife, but don’t use it against anyone. Not yet.”

Half-dressed, I felt cold and vulnerable. I didn’t like where this was going. I tightened my hold on the knife hilt and waited.

In my mind, though, I said, Namid, I need help.

“Regina are you ready to cast the spell?”

Witcombe nodded.

Ohanko. Namid didn’t materialize in the house, but I heard him speak in my mind. I am here, but you know I cannot help you.

Can you tell me how to break her hold on me?

“I want you to listen closely to me, Jay,” she said, her words echoing loudly in my head. “We need blood for this casting as well. But you can’t cut too deeply. The spell takes time, and we can’t have you passing out before we’re ready. I want you to draw the blade . . .”

She controls you? Somehow I heard the runemyste’s voice over hers, though he didn’t seem to be speaking any louder than usual.

Yes. The two of them cast a blood spell. The body of their source is in my car. I can’t fight them. I can’t even cast.

“. . . The symbols should look like this.” She had drawn a circle; I didn’t remember her having a pen and paper. Now, within the circle, she drew a stylized P with the loop pointy rather than rounded, like the corner of a triangle. Beside it, she drew a second symbol: a vertical line with a slash through it. And then a third: a plain vertical line.

If you cannot cast, I do not know how to help you.

I’m going to die here, Namid. You have to do something.

You must find a way to craft, Ohanko. They control your entire being, but the magic is attacking your mind. If you can shield it, you can win your freedom.

But I told you-

“. . . And when I say so, you will summon him.”

The world seemed to fall away beneath me. If I’d had control over my limbs, my knees would have buckled.

There was only one being I could summon: Namid. And he was right here with me, so close he could have whispered in my ear. In my desperation to break free of their spell, I had endangered the runemyste.

Leave me, Namid. And when I summon you again, don’t respond. Stay away from me.

I do not-

They’ll use blood. The summoning will be powerful. You might not be able to resist it on your own. Get others to help you. Whatever you do, don’t come when I call you!

Ohanko, you are-

Listen to me, ghost! They plan to use me to kill you. Just the way they killed your friend in Northern Virginia. Now, go!

“What are you doing, Jay?”

Patty had stepped closer to me, so that her face was inches from mine. An instant later, pain exploded in my chest, as if the same bomb that destroyed Solana’s had gone off inside me. I let out a small huff of air, but couldn’t clutch at my heart or fold in on myself as I wanted to. I could do no more than stand there, the pain making me grind my teeth.

“What are you doing, Jay?” she demanded again, biting off each word, and at the same time imbuing them with magic, so that I heard them with reverb.

“Warning Namid,” I said, the words torn from my throat.

“You shouldn’t have.”

The air shivered with another spell, and I heard bones break. Agony. It felt like she had smashed my left hand with a brick. My stomach heaved, though I managed somehow not to throw up.

“It shouldn’t matter, really. The blood compels him, so long as the spell is cast correctly. But to make it interesting, if your warnings keep him away, you’ll pay a price. If, after the spell is cast, he’s not here in ten seconds, I’ll shatter your knee. Ten seconds after that, I’ll break the other one. You don’t have to be standing for any of this to work. When I’m done with your knees, I’ll move on to your elbow, your femur, your tibia. And so on. Now, cut your wrist.”

I turned over my mangled hand, so that I exposed the underside of my wrist. And using the knife I held in my other hand, I angled the blade so that I would hit only artery and carved through my skin with the precision of a surgeon. The pain brought tears to my eyes and drew another chuffing of breath. But all I could do was watch as blood coursed from the gash, running over the blade and down my hand, and dripping onto the pale carpet.

“That’s enough,” Patty said. “Not too deep, remember?” She took the blade from me. “Now, the pattern.”

I dabbed a finger in the blood and drew a circle that encompassed my chest and belly. Gathering more blood, I made the stylized P, the line with the slash through it, and the second vertical line. Somehow, I drew them so that they would appear to Patty as they were meant to, though from my perspective they were upside down.

“I couldn’t have done better myself.” To Witcombe she said, “It’s time!”

They chanted something in a language I didn’t know. Once through, and then again.

“Get ready to summon him, Jay.”

They began to speak the words a third time. Their incantation must have been intended to strengthen my summons, and to extend their control to Namid as well. I couldn’t allow them to finish.

I’d never cast a blood spell before, but I knew in theory how it should work, and I had no time to second guess myself. I hoped the blood would allow me to overcome the control spell they’d used against me.

Patty, Witcombe, me, the spell they’d cast to control me, my mind, a shield, and the blood coursing from my wrist. Seven elements. I couldn’t risk repeating it seven times. I gathered the elements in my thoughts and released the magic at the same time they completed their chanting. The hum of this spell reminded me of the crackling static electricity of rustling blankets on a winter’s night. It slid along my skin, making the hair on my arms stand at attention.

“Now, Jay! Call for the myste!”

Patty shouted the words, and I heard them clearly, like the ringing of a church bell. But they were flat. There was no echo.

She must have heard this, too, because she whirled around, eyes wide. By then I’d drawn back my fist. My punch caught her square on the jaw, and she reeled, falling back into Witcombe. The second woman righted her, and I could tell that Patty was gearing up for a spell.

I cast first: a reflection spell. Her attack stirred the air an instant later, but it rebounded off of my warding. She went down in a heap, a welt appearing high on her temple.

Witcombe eyed me, rage and fear mingled on her face. Tires screeched out front.

“That’ll be Kona Shaw,” I said. “And she’ll be armed.”

“The police detective,” Witcombe said. “Good luck explaining Heather to her.”

Quick footsteps on the walkway, a fist pounding on the door. And then the door burst open. Kona had her weapon drawn, but she didn’t get a shot off.

Witcombe and Patty vanished with a pulse of magic. A transporting spell. Seconds later, the Mercedes growled to life and sped away. Kona spun, ran back outside, but again, she didn’t have time to fire off a shot.

I sank to the floor, overwhelmed by the pain in my hand, my wrist, my chest. The blood that had stained the carpet and glistened on my chest was gone, wiped away by the spell I’d cast, but fresh blood ran from the gash on my wrist and down the length of my fingers, dripping onto the carpet once more. I gripped my wrist with my good hand, my index finger pressing on the artery just above the cut, the other fingers digging into the wound itself. It hurt like hell, but at least it would slow the bleeding.

Kona came back inside. “Well, they’re- Justis!” She hurried to my side and knelt next to me. “Shit! We have to bind that wrist.”

“Gently,” I said, breathless and weary. “My hand is broken in about twenty places.”

“All right. Bandages?”

“Survival kit’s in the bathroom, bottom drawer on the left.”

“Bottom, left. Got it.”

“And, Kona . . .”

She had gotten to her feet again to retrieve the bandages, but she heard the urgency in my voice and stopped.

“There’s a dead girl in my car. She was murdered by one of the women who did this to me. They used her blood for a spell, like with the other killings. But that’s the knife that killed her.” I nodded toward the weapon, which lay on the floor a few feet from me. “And my prints are all over it.”

She regarded the knife, faced me again, and heaved a sigh. “Yeah, all right,” she said. “Nothing’s ever easy with you, is it?”