His Father's eyes

CHAPTER 19

I laughed at her candor, even as a chill ran through my body.

She produced a knife from within the folds of her dress and began to cut pieces of meat from the rabbit. “You think I jest?” she asked as she worked.

“I know you don’t.”

“And yet you laugh.”

She held out a strip of meat to me. I took it and bit into it without pause. It was succulent and smokey and delicious. Suddenly I was ravenous. I downed the rest of what she had given me in two bites and took another piece the moment she offered it.

“I laughed,” I said, chewing on yet another mouthful, “because it’s not often that someone is so up front about their intention to kill.”

“Do you fear death?” she asked, tipping her head to the side and regarding me through her lashes. She really was quite beautiful.

I thought there might be a right answer to this, but I didn’t know what it was. “Yes,” I said. “I don’t want to die. But I worked as a cop for a long time, and I’ve learned to manage that fear.”

“So, you prefer to live.” She stood and took a step toward me. Again, a hint of decay soured the air around us.

I fell back a step. “All things being equal, I’d prefer to live.”

“I can arrange that,” she said.

“At what cost?”

“To you? Nothing at all.”

There was no such thing as a free lunch-my dad had taught me that years ago. “What about to Namid?”

“He uses you, as the runemystes all use their weremystes. You are little more than slaves to them, doing their bidding and in return receiving ‘training’ so that you can continue to serve their cause. Surely you see this.”

“I’ve known Namid a long time. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“You don’t know him at all.”

The wind died down, and once more that elusive odor reached me. “At least I know what he really looks like,” I said. It was a hunch, but I’d long since learned to trust my instincts.

Her smile this time was bitter, and it made her far less attractive.

“You believe you do,” she said, “but that, too, is an illusion. He appears to you as he thinks you would like him to.”

“You’ve done the same.”

“Yes, I have. Like me, he can take on any guise he wishes.”

“So, let me see the real you,” I said.

“The real me,” she repeated. “They are all the real me.” She gestured at herself. “This is as real as any form I might take. Once I appeared as you see me now. But I can be this.” The figure before me wavered, as if heat waves rose from the ground before her. An instant later, she was transformed into a great, dark-pelted deer. “Or this.” She morphed again, this time into a gray wolf, with bright yellow eyes and paws that were the size of my hand.

“I can be a woman.” Abruptly she was herself again. “Or a man.” As quickly as she had taken on that familiar form, she shifted once more, this time to a burly, bearded Scottish warrior in a plaid kilt and brown leather vest. “Or I can be someone I’ve never even met.” This time I stumbled back, appalled and fascinated by what I saw. She was Billie, naked to the waist, her eyes and hair as I knew them, but the expression on her face too cruel, too predatory.

“Stop that,” I said, my voice shaking. “After what you did to her, you have no right.”

She shifted back to her original appearance. “So, you like this one after all.”

“No. It’s a lie; I can tell. I can smell you from here. You stink of rot, of death. This isn’t how you look. I want to see the demon beneath that skin.”

Her expression went stony. “You are his creature through and through. You belong to him and you do not even know it.”

“I belong to no one. But Namid’s my friend, and I trust him with my life. Now, let me see you.”

She smiled, as thin as a blade. And when next she shifted it was to something hideous, ghoulish. Her flesh seemed to melt away, and with it her dress and shawl, leaving little more than an animated corpse, rotted, skeletal in places. Only her eyes remained even remotely the same. They gleamed in their desiccated sockets, white orbs, blue at the center. And she kept them fixed on me.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” she asked, her voice unchanged.

I could smell her now, the stench of decay so strong it made my eyes tear; it was all I could do to keep from gagging.

“Yes,” I said. “This is the first form you’ve taken that seems genuine.”

“Your precious Namid’skemu would look the same, if he were as honest with you as I am being now.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said. “I understand more than you think I do. He was granted eternal life by the Runeclave. And in giving him that, they also gave him the form I see when he appears to me. He’s a creature of magic, and that form is as elemental to him as his voice and his thoughts. But you and your kind-you took everything that you are now. It wasn’t a gift, it was . . . it was plunder. And so you stink of corruption, because you are, in fact, corrupt.”

“Bold words, weremyste. You dare speak them now because I have given you my word that no harm will come to you from this encounter. And despite what you think you know about me, I keep my oaths. Your runemyste is not as pure as you might like to believe, nor am I as evil as you judge. You are young and foolish and you see the world in black and white when all around you are shades of gray. You do not trust me; I understand why. But ask him, and perhaps you will glean a kernel of truth in what I am telling you.”

I faltered, not wanting to put any stock in her attacks on Namid, and yet unable to deny them with any credibility. The truth was, being a cop and an investigator had taught me long ago that there were no absolutes. As she put it, everything existed in gradations of gray. Except where Namid was concerned. I had always accepted that he was an agent of unalloyed good, the same way I now assumed that this putrescent creature before me was evil incarnate. I should have known better, which meant I needed to start questioning assumptions I’d lived with for far too long.

“You are thinking about it, I can tell. It may be there is more to you than I have credited thus far.” I heard surprise in her voice, and, I thought, a hint of respect as well. “Nevertheless,” she said, her voice hardening once more, “I offer no assurances as to your safety when next we meet. You and I are on opposite sides in this struggle. At our next encounter I will act accordingly.”

“And I’ll do the same. Count on it.”

She laughed, the effect in her current form chilling. “That is the third time you have threatened me,” she whispered.

In the blink of an eye she had covered the distance between us so that she stood inches from me. Her fetor seemed to poison the air. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She raised a moldered hand, the skin dark and leathery, and she traced a line down the side of my face, her touch as gentle as that of a lover. Only then, having touched me as her true self, did she shift again, this time back to the form she had assumed when my dream first began.

“Three times, Justis Fearsson. We are enemies sworn now. The next time we meet you will have no choice but to fight me. And you will die. I assure you of that.”

I jerked away from her, able to move at last. And opening my eyes, I found myself back in my hospital bed. I searched the room for a clock and spotted one on the wall behind me. Twisting around enough to read it proved more difficult than I’d imagined. It was a few minutes shy of five o’clock. Despite the dream, I’d gotten a bit of sleep and felt better for it. I wondered if I’d really eaten, and if that had helped as well. Settling back down in the bed, I realized that Namid was still with me, watching my every move, his eyes brilliant in the dim light.

“You were dreaming,” he said.

“Of Saorla.”

“I gathered as much.”

“She fed me and gave me wine. Could that have been real?”

He frowned, but nodded. “You took a risk accepting food from her.”

I started to say that I was dreaming, though I knew he wouldn’t accept that as an excuse. But really, I had known it wasn’t a dream, just as I had known that I could trust her on this one occasion. “I don’t believe I did take a risk,” I told him. “She believes that you’re still keeping things from me, that you’re refusing to tell me everything I should know about your history and hers. Is she right?”

“It is not that I refuse, but yes, I have yet to tell you all. Ours is a long and complicated history. I could not possibly convey all of it to you at once.”

“I understand that,” I said, my patience strained. “But she says that you’re . . . telling me things that present your actions in the best light and hers in the worst.” I wasn’t explaining it well.

His waters were roiled. “She implies that I am misleading you, that if I told you all there is to tell, you might side with her.”

“Exactly.” I hesitated, unsure of whether I wanted to know the truth. “Is she right?”

“No, and yes.”

I scowled. “That’s helpful.”

“We were at war, Ohanko. I fought against other weremystes. Some I wounded, others I killed. I can justify all that I did. I believed that I was doing right. But obviously my foes disagreed and felt that my allies and I were at fault. I am sure Saorla could tell you tales-all of them true-that would make my deeds sound foul, even villainous. Such is the nature of war. I am not perfect, nor have I ever claimed to be. And as a young man I made terrible mistakes that I rue to this day. But I remain a loyal servant of the Runeclave, and I remain as well your friend.”

“Is that why you stayed here all night?”

A faint smile touched his face. “It is.”

He still hadn’t told me all. I knew that. But I knew as well that he had told me the truth as far as it went. More, now that I was awake and free of Saorla’s influence, I was able the name the difference between them: Namid might not have been as forthcoming with information as I would have liked, but he never threatened or cajoled. What he shared came unvarnished; I was free to do with it what I would. And that gift of freedom was an expression of friendship that Saorla couldn’t have understood.

“I must leave you for a time,” the myste said. “I believe you are safe, at least for now.”

“All right. Thanks for protecting me.”

“I did not. That would have been an act of interference. I merely remained by your side out of concern for your health.”

We both smiled. Then he raised a hand in farewell and vanished.

I closed my eyes and must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew a nurse I didn’t recognize was checking my vital signs, and a tray of scrambled eggs and toast had been set by my bed. The nurse’s tag read “Alicia.”

“You’re awake,” she said. “I heard you talking before; do you talk in your sleep?”

“Sometimes,” I said, fighting an urge to laugh.

“Well, if you feel up to it, someone’s here to see you.” She leaned closer to me. “And she’s very pretty.”

I tensed. Could it have been Patty? Witcombe wouldn’t have come herself.

“Come on in,” the nurse said, pulling the curtain open.

Margarite, Kona’s partner-of the domestic sort-walked to my bedside. I gave her a big smile, my pulse slowing.

“Hey, you! I’m surprised to see you here.”

She stooped to kiss my cheek, dark hair brushing my forehead. “How are you, Jay?”

“I’m good. I mean, as good as a guy in a hospital can be, you know?”

The nurse left us, although not before setting the table with the food tray on it right in front of me.

“I knew Kona would be working this morning. You didn’t have to come.”

Her smile tightened. “Actually, I did,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “You have to get out of here.”

“What?”

“Kona told me to tell you that she and Kevin will be coming here to arrest you this morning. They might be on their way already. She tried to keep them from charging you, but right now the evidence is weighted against you too much.”

I nodded, trying to fight off a surge of panic. I could hear my heart monitor beeping out a salsa beat, and I expected the nurse to come back at any moment to find out what the hell we were doing in here.

On cue, the curtain slid open again. “Mister Fearsson?” Alicia said, eyeing us both.

“I have to leave,” I said.

“I’m afraid I can’t-”

“I’ll sign whatever papers are necessary releasing the hospital from any responsibility for my well-being. But . . . my father. He’s taken ill. He might even have had a heart attack. He’s at another hospital and I need to get to him.”

As lies went, it seemed like a pretty good one.

I could tell Alicia wasn’t pleased, but after a few seconds, which felt like an eon, she said, “Yes, all right. I’ll start the paperwork right away.”

Margarite left, telling the nurse that she needed to hurry back to “our father’s” side. It took Alicia some time to gather the necessary documents, and she insisted on changing the bandage on my wrist before letting me go. My hand was still tender, despite Namid’s healing magic, and I winced several times as she worked on me, prompting a lengthy scolding during which she told me in no uncertain terms that I was making a terrible mistake.

I was out of there by seven-thirty. I guessed that Kona and Kevin had done their best to get stuck in traffic; Kona wouldn’t have sent Margarite to warn me if she then intended to rush over.

I had someone at the visitor’s desk call a cab for me, and went outside to wait for it. As soon as I cleared the building and set foot on the pavement, it hit me: the moon. It’s pull on my mind was magnetic; I could no more resist it than I could fight the passage of time. Somehow I had lost track of the days, but it came rushing back to me now. As the start of the phasing approached, the moon’s effect on my thoughts and mood grew ever stronger. But the difference in magnitude between the tug of the moon approaching full and its power as the phasing began was the difference between a sip of beer and a couple of shots of tequila. The phasing would begin tonight at sundown, and already I could feel it bending my mind, leaving me muddied and grasping for clarity. Other weremystes-Q, Luis, and Amaya, and also Patty, Witcombe, and Dimples-would be experiencing much the same thing. Like the laws of nature, the laws of magic brooked no exceptions. But I doubted that the weremancers would rest today in anticipation of this evening’s moonrise. If anything, they’d be working even harder in advance of it.

Considering once more that laws-of-magic thing, I wondered if there were blood spells that somehow allowed them to escape the worst of the phasings. I wasn’t proud of myself for thinking along those lines, but I had to admit that if blood magic was that powerful, I’d be tempted to give it a try.

Before I could wander too much further down that path, my cab showed up. I climbed in and told the driver to take me up to Banner Desert Medical Center. It was incredibly stupid of me, but I wanted to check in on Billie.

She had been moved to a private room, which made tracking her down a bit difficult. Soon enough, though, I found her. She was asleep when I walked in, and for a few moments I stood and stared at her, rage and guilt and relief warring within me. Her color was better, though she still had enough bandages on her head and arm to qualify for mummy-hood. She was going to be fine. I was sure of that. But I also knew I could claim no credit for her survival. Not only had I failed to protect her, it was because of me that she was here in the first place, wrapped in miles of gauze and wired to those damn machines.

Even private rooms in hospitals had curtains, so that nurses and doctors could examine patients in private when they had guests. I pulled the curtain out part way and sat on the far side of it so that Billie couldn’t see me. And then I spoke her name.

I had to call to her a couple of times before she woke, but at last I heard her say, “Fearsson?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Where are you?”

“On the far side of the curtain.”

“Well get over here, clown. Let me see you.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? Are you hurt? Did something happen to you?”

“No, I’m fine. I mean, yeah, something happened to me. I’ll explain it all when I can. But right now you need to know that the police are trying to find me.”

“Why?”

I sighed. “They think I killed someone.”

Silence. After about ten seconds, which in the middle of a conversation is a lot longer than it sounds, she said, “Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then-”

“Kona is going to come here with Kevin, her partner, and they’re going to question you. They have to. Kona knows I didn’t do it, but she’s conducting an investigation, and she answers to people who don’t like me as much as she does. The point is, I want you to be able to say with a straight face that you haven’t seen me. If they ask you whether we’ve spoken, that’s what you say: You haven’t seen me, and we haven’t even spoken by phone. You understand?”

“I guess. But then why did you come here? Why go to all this trouble?”

“I needed to see you. I wanted to make sure you were doing all right.”

“Okay, I think I must be getting too caught up in your twisted world, because, ridiculous as this all is, that strikes me as being incredibly sweet and romantic.”

I grinned. “Good. How are you feeling?”

“I’m better. The fajitas you brought helped. You didn’t happen to bring more, did you?”

“No. I was . . . I couldn’t get to a restaurant.”

I could almost hear her frowning. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

No. “I’m working on it.”

“Does this have anything to do with-?”

“Don’t say any more, Billie. Please.”

“But no one else is here.”

“They don’t have to be here to be listening. Get what I mean?”

“Yes,” she said. She sounded scared, and more than anything I wanted to shove aside the curtain and take her hand.

“I’m sorry. I have to go. After they search for me at the other hospital and at home, this is the next place they’ll come.”

“You were in the hospital?”

Oops. “Just overnight. I had a . . . a cut on my wrist.”

“That must have been some cut.”

“It was. I’ll come back as soon as I can. I promise. In the meantime, I need you to turn away so that I can pull this curtain back and leave.”

A pause. Then, “All right.”

I pushed the curtain away and stood. Glancing at her, I saw that Billie was watching me.

“Billie!”

“I lied,” she said. “And I’ll lie to Kona if I have to. But I wanted to see you.” Her gaze fell to the heavy bandaging on my wrist. “That doesn’t look so good. Did you try to kill yourself?”

“Someone needed blood for a spell, and they took mine without my permission.”

“And was this the same person who committed the murder Kona wants to blame on you?”

“She doesn’t want to . . .” I cringed, squeezed my eyes shut for a second. I didn’t have time to explain it all. “Yes. Same person.”

Billie stared at my arm for another second before again finding my eyes with hers. “Your job sucks, Fearsson.”

I laughed. “It certainly does this week.” I stepped to the bed and kissed her on the bridge of the nose. “I have to go,” I whispered.

“Okay.”

I kissed her again, and slipped out of her room. I took the stairs to the ground floor, avoiding the elevators, grabbed another cab out front, and had the driver drop me off a block from my home.

I walked the rest of the way, and seeing no sign of Kona’s Mustang or PPD squad cars out front, I let myself inside. I changed clothes as quickly as I could, retrieved my cell phone and bomber jacket from where I’d left them the night before-I’d lost my Glock to Regina Witcombe’s security guys, and I didn’t think they’d give it back, even if I asked nicely-and went back outside, intending to jump in the Z-ster. At which point I remembered that the car would have been impounded by the police. After all, there’d been a dead body in the back.

After considering the problem for all of two seconds, I walked away from the house, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed what was becoming a familiar number.

“Amaya.”

“Good morning,” I said. “It’s Jay Fearsson.”

“So it says on my phone. When I gave you this number, I didn’t think you’d add me to your circle of phone friends.”

“I need a car.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was kidnapped last night by Regina Witcombe and a friend of hers. They controlled me with one blood spell and tried to use my blood for a second crafting that would have killed my runemyste. And in the process they framed me for murder. The police have my car, and I can’t do anything until I have a replacement.”

He didn’t answer right away. “So I was right about her.”

“Yes, you were.”

“I’ll have Rolon and Paco bring you a car. Any requests; I have a nice collection.”

“Something understated. I don’t want to be noticed. Paco’s lowrider would be a bad choice.” I paused, knowing I would regret this. “I could also use a firearm. A Glock 22 would be great-the .40. Failing that, any nine millimeter will do.”

“All right. Where are you?”

“I’ll be waiting for them in the parking lot of the Chandler Airport in half an hour.”

“They’ll be there,” he said, and ended the call.

I didn’t like relying on Amaya for help. It was bad enough that I was working for him, and that I had to conceal our arrangement from Kona. But I didn’t know where else to turn; few of my friends had extra cars lying around, not to mention extra pistols. Unfortunately, I had the sense that each time I called the man for help or a favor, I was cementing a relationship of which I really wanted no part.

But like the approach of the phasing, this couldn’t be helped. I needed a car, and fast. I set out on the lengthy trek to Chandler’s little municipal airport. As I walked, I tried to work out how best to use the remaining hours before the phasing began. I had much of the day left, but that didn’t seem like enough time; not even close.

I wasn’t ready to face Patty and Witcombe again, which left Dimples. And I’d thought of a way I might track him down.

I reached the airport in good time, and had to wait a few minutes before Paco and Rolon showed up. They pulled into the parking lot with a bit more fanfare than I would have liked, Paco’s lowrider rumbling like some hotrod in a Sixties beach-party movie. Rolon trailed him, driving a cream-colored, late-model Lexus sedan. I could tell already that Amaya’s loaner was going to spoil me for any car I’d ever be able to afford.

They got out of their respective cars and waited as I joined them. I eyed the Lexus.

“Nice car.”

“You sure you don’t want the lowrider?” Paco asked, grinning. “She’s pretty fast.”

“Too much car for me,” I said.

He laughed.

Rolon reached into the pocket of his sports jacket, pulled out a Glock just like the one I’d lost, and held it out to me. “From Jacinto. He says to keep it.”

I took the weapon from him, but shook my head. “I’ll bring it back to him once I have a chance to retrieve mine or buy a new one.”

Rolon turned grave. “Don’t, amigo. He’ll be insulted, and he’s not a man you want to piss off, you know?” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like he’ll miss it. He’s got enough to arm . . .” He glanced at Paco, grinned again. “Well, he’s got plenty.”

“All right,” I said, slipping the weapon into my bomber pocket. “Tell him I said thanks.”

“The magazine’s full,” Rolon said. “And it’s the high capacity; seventeen rounds.”

“Good to know. Again, thanks.”

Rolon tossed me the fob. “Jacinto also told me I should offer my help.”

I was already reaching for the door handle on the Lexus, but I stopped now. “What?”

“I can ride with you. Help you with what you’re doing.” He flashed the familiar grin once more, exposing a single gold tooth. “I shoot good, and I can craft a bit.”

“Not to mention, you’re built like a brick shithouse.”

Paco laughed. After a moment Rolon did, too.

“Yeah, not to mention that.”

I pulled off my bomber and held up my bandaged arm. “This may not look like much,” I said, “but I nearly died last night. And the guys I’m going up against today aren’t likely to be any more gentle.”

“You trying to scare me, Fearsson?”

“I’m trying to be straight with you. You’re not volunteering for an easy day off from whatever it is Amaya has you doing.”

His grin vanished. “It’s Mister Amaya. And I wasn’t interested in a day off. He told me to go with you because he thinks I can help. If you don’t want me riding along, say so.”

I opened the driver’s side door of the Lexus and slid into the seat. “Hop in. I’m driving.”

He flashed another smile and said something to Paco in Spanish that I didn’t catch.

A moment later he got in the car.

I was taking a moment. Leather seats that molded themselves to my body, a steering wheel that felt like an extension of my hands, an interior that was more spacious than rooms in some five-star hotels. Yeah, I never wanted to drive anything else. And I hadn’t even turned the key yet.

After studying the dashboard for about three seconds, I realized there was no key. This was one of those push-button-start luxury models. I started it up, the purr of the engine as sexy as Saorla’s voice. What can I say? I like nice cars.

“So where are we going?” Rolon asked as I steered us out of the airport lot.

“Back to the doggie’s single-wide.”

He nodded, leaned forward, and clicked on the radio. It was already set to a Latino pop station. He grinned at me and cranked the volume. It wouldn’t have been my choice, but he’d brought me a car and a new Glock. I couldn’t complain.