Spell Blind

CHAPTER 25

A couple of days later I drove to Maryvale. I wasn’t supposed to get behind the wheel for a few weeks, but I was going crazy alone in my house. Shifting was a challenge with only one good arm and one good leg, but I managed it. I still didn’t like going to that part of the city, but I wanted to see how Orestes was doing.

When I arrived, Q was sitting outside in his rocking chair, which, as far as I could tell, was one of the few pieces of furniture to survive Red’s attack. He had casts on his leg and arm, and bandages on his head. But he smiled when he saw me get out of the Z-ster, and he raised his good hand in greeting.

“Justis Fearsson, where have you been? With your arm in that wrap you look like Q’s twin.”

I laughed, hobbling toward him. “How you doing, Q?”

“Q’s doin’ all right.” He gestured at one of the folding chairs. “Sit down, sit down.”

I unfolded the chair next to his and sat. I could hear noises from inside the shop and I raised an eyebrow.

“That’s Q’s boy in there,” he said. “He’s helpin’ Q with repairs.”

“I didn’t know you had a son.”

“Yup,” Q said, grinning and sounding proud. “Q got a little girl, too.” The grin tightened. “’Course she’s with her mama, and doesn’t come around as much as Q’d like.”

A moment later a sweet-faced kid with short black hair came out of the store, struggling with a trash bag that was filled almost to bursting. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old, and he didn’t look much like Orestes. But when Q called to him, he rolled his eyes, the way any kid that age would when his father asked him to do something.

“Come here, boy,” Q said. “Justis Fearsson, this is Quincy. One day Quincy will be Brother Q, just like his papa.”

Another roll of the eyes and the kid was gone.

“Well, I just stopped by to make sure you were doing all right, Q. I should probably be going.” I started to stand, but he put his hand on mine.

“Wait a minute, Jay.” Q’s voice had dropped, as had his gaze; there was something on his mind. “You know, when a man is hurt, and fearin’ for his life, sometimes he’ll say crazy stuff. You know what Q’s sayin’?”

I wanted to laugh out loud-I knew exactly what he meant-but I managed to keep a straight face. “You mean the other night? You seemed pretty lucid to me.”

“No, Q was. . he was sufferin’. Q had no idea what he was sayin’.”

“So then you don’t even remember.”

“Well. . no, Q remembers some of it.”

At that point I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself. “Don’t worry, Q. If I need information, I’ll be coming to you. And I’ll bring cash.”

He beamed. “You’re a good man, Justis Fearsson. Q’s always said that about you.”

“Thanks.” I limped to the car. “Take care.”

After leaving Maryvale, I stopped by the store and with some help from a clerk I managed to buy a few things for my dad. Then I got on Grand Avenue and drove out to his place. For the first time in years, I’d missed my usual Tuesday visit, and after the week I’d been through, I felt a strong need to see him.

He was in his chair when I drove up to the trailer. He glanced over at me, but he didn’t wave and he didn’t get up. It was hot and windy. The tarp over his chair snapped like a flag and my father sat there squinting against the glare and the dust.

“How are you feeling today, Pop?” I said, stooping to kiss his forehead.

“Not so good,” he said. “One of those days, you know? Things seem. .” He shrugged. “I don’t know. .”

“Muddled?”

“Yeah.”

I sat beside him and stared out over the desert.

“It just Tuesday?” he asked.

“No, Thursday. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

He noticed the bandaging on my arm and leg.

“What happened to you?”

“Got shot.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “No joking?”

“No joking.”

“What happened to the other guy?”

“He’s dead.”

My dad nodded and faced forward again.

“Where’s that girl you brought out the other day? What was her name again?”

“Billie.”

“That’s right. Billie. Where’s she?”

“We’re not together anymore.”

He twisted his mouth for a moment. “Phasings?”

He said he was muddled, but he seemed pretty sharp to me.

“How’d you know that?”

“Just a guess.”

“How did you do it, Dad? How’d you make things last with Mom for so long?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “She did. She held on, even when I was too screwed up to do much of anything. I still don’t know why.”

“She loved you,” I said.

“Right. And I’m telling you I still don’t know why.”

We sat there for a long time, saying nothing, watching the day drift by with the tumbleweed and the dust devils.

“I tried one of your spells the other day,” I said, breaking a long silence.

“My spells?”

“Namid said it was yours. Dual transporting-moving myself and putting my weapon in my hand at the same time.”

He nodded. “I think I remember that one. Can’t do it anymore, but I remember.”

“You still conjure?”

“A bit,” he said, glancing at me. “Now and then. Just for the sake of doing it.”

I don’t know why, but it was strange for me to think of my father doing magic. I know that he used to, but I figured he gave it up when he left the force, though, of course, there was no reason he should. I thought about what Namid had said, about how the two of us might have worked together if things had been different.

“So, did it work?” he asked.

“What?”

“The spell. Did it work?”

I shook my head. “No. I moved, but I left my weapon where I’d been.”

“Focus on the weapon first.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you work the spell, do the weapon first, your move second. That way the pistol gets to your hand before you move yourself. Worst thing that happens is you stay where you are but you’re armed.”

I stared at him as if he’d done the spell right there. “I thought you said you were muddled today.”

“I was, ’til you got here.”

I smiled, and he did, too.

“There food in the car?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m outta most everything and I’m starved. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

I handed him the keys and he unloaded what I’d brought him. After a while he emerged from the trailer with a couple of sandwiches.

We didn’t say much more, but I was glad I’d made the trip, and I know that he was, too.

I started the drive back to Chandler a short time before dusk. As soon as I was back on the highway, Namid materialized in the passenger seat, the pinks and yellows and reds of the western sky shimmering in his waters.

“Ohanko.”

“Where have you been, ghost? You missed all the excitement.”

“I have been speaking with my kind.”

It all came back to me then, how he had saved my life in Robo’s and warded my house, breaking the most basic rules of the Council of Runemystes. “Did they punish you?”

“They warned me not to act on your behalf again.”

“That’s it?”

“No. They told me to ask your forgiveness. We were careless and you nearly died. We have done what we can to make certain such a thing does not happen again. But we will remain vigilant, lest others in the council make a similar attempt.”

I wanted to ask what they’d done to keep the other runemystes in line, but I knew he wouldn’t tell me.

Instead, I asked him something that had been bothering me for the past several days. “Why did he come here, Namid? Why Phoenix of all places? Why didn’t he do all of this in France?”

“He could not,” Namid said, sounding like I should have known this already. “France is where he was bound into service as a runemyste. To escape that fate, he first had to leave his native land.”

I suppose that made sense. “All right, but why here?”

“I cannot be entirely certain,” the runemyste said. “He would have required the presence of a university, so that he could find young victims for his magic. He might also have wanted a warm climate, so that his potential victims would be out of doors throughout the year.”

“You think he came for the weather?” I asked, incredulous. I thought of Sophie Schaller. I couldn’t imagine anyone who had less in common with Cahors; I didn’t want to believe that the two of them could have come to Phoenix for the same reason.

“I am merely saying that it is possible,” Namid said, his expression remaining the same. “I also think he would have chosen a place with powerful ties to the craft. That might have helped him, too. My people have been using magic in this part of your world for many hundreds of years. And he has known me for a long time.”

I hadn’t expected that. “He came here because of you?”

“I believe so. In part at least.”

I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, Namid.”

“I believe I should be apologizing to you.”

“No,” I said. “That’s not necessary.” I’d never felt sorry for Namid before; it was unsettling. “Anyway,” I said after a minute or two, “thank you. For saving my life, I mean. I know you weren’t supposed to.”

“Of course. Tread like the fox, Ohanko.”

I tried to think of some clever response, but nothing came to mind. In the end, I merely nodded, and Namid faded from view.

It was almost dark when I got back to my house, which may be why I didn’t recognize the car that was parked out front. I pulled into the driveway and had hobbled halfway to my front door before I noticed Billie standing on the walk. My heart began to hammer so hard in my chest that I was sure she’d see my shirt move.

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

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

“You all right?”

“Sure. I’m fine.”

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

“Can I come in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not that simple.”

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

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

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

“No,” I said. “It wouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, Namid. Help me out.”

“Who is Namid?”

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

“He is,” I said.

“Good God, what is that?”

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

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

“It’s kind of a ghost.”

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

What a charmer.

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

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

“Abri?”

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

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

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

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

“Billie-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has not yet.”

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

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

“I think I like her, Ohanko.”

“I thought you said she was a distraction.”

“I may have been wrong.”

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

Billie grinned.

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

“I think so, yes.”

“Good. Farewell.”

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

“Runemyste.”

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

“Are we going further?” I asked.

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

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

We stood in silence, our eyes locked.

“So, is there more?” she asked.

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

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

“You want me to make you some dinner?”

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

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

“Fine. I’ll choose this place, too.”

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