David Coe - His Father's eyes

“Good,” I heard Saorla say. “You are here. Another few seconds and I would have had to kill her.”

I was afraid to open my eyes, knowing that I would probably throw up as soon as I did. If anything, the spinning was worse now than it had been while I was still trapped in the icy between, desperate to reach Billie’s room.

“A transporting spell. As I said, you are resourceful.”

I forced myself to open my eyes, to sit up and face whatever it was the necromancer had in store for me. The dizziness wasn’t as bad as I had expected, and I was able to climb to my feet.

Billie watched me, her eyes wide, her face as white as the sheets on which she lay. I sidled closer to her bed and took her hand.

Saorla sat in a chair near the bed, clad once more in the green dress, her face and hair as lovely as they had been at Martell’s house. As far as I could tell, she had healed herself of the wounds Rolon and I inflicted upon her.

I cast a quick warding that I hoped would protect Billie and me from whatever spells she directed at us.

The necromancer quirked an eyebrow. “You believe that you can ward yourself from me?”

“I’m pretty sure I can’t. But I’d be a fool not to try, don’t you agree?”

“You are a fool in either case.”

Even with a warding in place, I was helpless against her magic. Fortunately, at the first touch of it, I dropped Billie’s hand. Saorla’s spell was similar to one she had used against me in Bear’s house; it swatted me off my feet, so that I rammed into the nearest wall and crumpled to the floor.

“Fearsson!”

I groaned, but forced myself up. “I’m all right,” I said. “She’s playing with me. If she wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”

“I am glad you understand that.”

The door to Billie’s room rattled.

“Miss Castle?” a man’s voice called from out in the corridor.

“Tell him you are all right,” Saorla said, steel in her tone.

Billie glanced my way and I nodded.

“I’m fine,” she said, loud enough for the man to hear.

“Your door seems to be stuck. Can you open it from in there?”

The necromancer shook her head.

“No,” Billie said. “I guess I’m locked in.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out.”

“Maybe you and I should leave,” I said to Saorla.

“They will not get in until I allow them to.”

“Fine. What is it you want?”

“Let us begin with the conversation you just had, the one you would not let me hear. What did you discuss?”

When I didn’t answer right away, she shifted her gaze to Billie. That was all, but it was like watching her aim a loaded pistol.

I moved to Billie’s side again and laced my fingers through hers.“I’m making plans for this evening. I believe you intend to send your weremystes after me before the phasing begins, and I want to be ready.”

“Where?” she asked.

I glowered. “My father’s place,” I said, my voice flat.

“What else did you talk about?”

“The police investigation into Heather Royce’s murder.”

“They believe you are guilty.”

“The police here do. The two I spoke with know that I’m not. I told them about Patricia Hesslan-Fine. And also about Palmer Hain.”

She scowled. “You should not have done that.”

I shrugged. “Oops.”

“What else?”

“That’s all.”

“I do not believe you.”

“And I don’t care.”

The door rattled again. We could hear several men speaking on the other side of it. “Don’t worry, Miss Castle, we’ll have this open in a minute.”

“I could let them in,” Saorla said. “Several of them are detectives. I could vanish and leave you to fight them off.”

“Yes, you could.” I let go of Billie’s hand and gave her a quick smile. “What is this about, Saorla? You didn’t bring me all the way here to ask me about a conversation. If you want to kill me for shooting you earlier, then go ahead. If it’s something else, then get to it. But I have more important things to do with what’s left of my day. I’m not going to waste the last hours of sunlight on you.”

“Once again, you speak bravely, though you have no power or skill to back up your words. I can kill you at will. I can do the same to her, or to your father.”

“And yet here you stand, just talking, just like me. You need me for something. What is it?”

“You know already.”

I took a breath, because I did know. And I was certain as well that she could could compel me to do pretty much anything she wanted, simply by threatening Billie, Kona, and my father. “Namid,” I said.

“Precisely.”

“What about Namid?” Billie asked.

“She wants me to help her kill him.”

“Can you do that?”

“There are ways,” Saorla said.

“Your minions tried last night. If they’d succeeded, I’d be dead, too.”

“Yes, but they are limited, as you are. Working together, however, you and I can kill the runemyste and spare your life.”

“How?”

She shook her head. “Do not mistake me for a fool, Justis Fearsson. I will not tell you that until I am certain that you will help me.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even to save the lives of those you love?”

Even knowing that the threat was coming, I experienced a moment of pure terror. It seemed my heart was in that taloned grasp again; she had only to squeeze.

“Don’t, Fearsson! Don’t you dare let her use me that way!”

I’m not sure I’d ever loved Billie more than I did in that instant.

“I won’t,” I said again, to her this time. And with the words still on my lips, I lunged at Saorla and took hold of her, one hand gripping each of her shoulders. The stink of rot filled my nostrils, and I had to grind my teeth together against a wave of nausea. But I held fast to her.

She let out a small disbelieving gasp. That was all I gave her time to do. I cast again, blindly, without pause or thought. The elements flashed through my mind like flickers of lightning. The necromancer, me, my grip on her, the room where we were, the parking lot, the distance in between, and Billie, safe and alone here once we were gone.

Cold and darkness closed in on me once more. My breath caught in my throat, and we spun as if thrown from a speeding car. But I refused to let go, even as she made her skin flare like the sun. Flames seared my hands, and I howled. She let out a wail as well: shock, rage, the indignity of being touched by a mere weremyste.

We landed hard on the pavement, rolled twice before stopping with me on top of her. That lasted about a tenth of a second. I was blasted into the air, flailed as if trying to fly, and then came down hard on the hood of a sedan.

The car alarm blared. I hoped I hadn’t ruined Amaya’s Lexus.

She stood. I slid off the car and faced her, swaying, my body aching, a trickle of blood flowing from a scrape on my elbow. But already I could hear raised voices and approaching footsteps. My hands still tingled with the pain of touching her, but when I chanced a glance down at them I saw that they were unmarked. The skin wasn’t even red.

“I could kill you now,” she said, her voice a raw snarl. “You who dare to lay your hands on me. I need only form the thought.”

“Then do.” As I spoke the words, I cast again; two spells this time, not simple wardings, but something more focused that Namid had taught me a couple of months before, when I was about to face Cahors. And I used that small bit of blood in the casting. I felt guilty about it, but this didn’t seem like the time to let qualms get in the way.

She went for my heart first, as I had known she would. I grunted at the impact of her assault. But the clawed hand could not penetrate the warding I’d placed around my heart. She tried for my mind next; the thousand-spikes attack again, I expect. That shield spell held as well. I was learning.