David Coe - Spell Blind

“No? Then why all the warding spells? Your place is glowing like the magical equivalent of Fort Knox.”

“There’s a lot of crime on these streets. You know that.” He forced a smile. “Things aren’t as safe around here since you left the force.” He wasn’t very convincing.

“What’s going on, Q?”

The smile faded. He regarded me for a minute. Then he motioned with his head toward the shop, stood up, and walked inside.

I followed.

“Close the door,” he said.

The shop was lit by a single light bulb in an old fixture, and it smelled of incense smoke and oils. I recognized the frankincense as soon as we got inside, but it was mingled with something harsher, more bitter.

“Is that petitgrain?” I asked.

“Very good, Brother J. You’re learnin’ well.”

Petitgrain and frankincense. Among herbalists, both were thought to be powerful guardians against dark magic. Orestes could deny it all he liked, but he was scared.

“What’s all this about, Orestes? Frankincense, petitgrain, all those wardings; it’s like you’re preparing for a war.”

“A man can’t be too careful.”

“Why not? What’s out there?”

He shook his head. “Brother Q doesn’t know.”

“Damnit! I don’t have time for this. Some sorcerer is out there stalking me, making me look over my shoulder every two seconds!”

“Brother Q is tellin’ the truth. Q swears it. He hears whispers, wind in the trees, nothin’ more.”

“What kind of whispers?”

He licked his lips, glanced around the shop. “There’s a new player in town. A real badass. You know what Brother Q is sayin’?”

“But if he’s new-”

“Brother Q doesn’t believe he’s new. It’s the same guy you’ve been after for three years. But he’s gettin’ stronger. That Q does believe.” He shook his head. “People are scared, J. People are real scared.”

“Who is he?”

“No one knows. He’s got no name. Nobody ever sees him, or at least they don’t talk about it if they do. He comes and goes and no one knows where he lives or where he’s come from.” He leaned forward. “Some are sayin’ he comes from Hell itself,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“How long have you been hearing about this guy?”

“Not long. Can’t say for certain. But not long.”

“Why does he kill? What’s he getting from these kids?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“Come on! You’ve got to be able to tell me something about this guy, other than the fact that he’s a badass weremyste.”

“He ain’t like other weremystes. He’s more than strong, you understand? He’s different .”

I felt cold suddenly and had to keep myself from shuddering. “Different how?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his answer.

He shrugged. “Q don’t know. He’s just different. His magic’s stronger than it should be. Some people are sayin’ that the moons don’t bother him, though I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“Yeah, all right,” I said. I believed Q was trying to help me, and would have, had he known enough. “Who else can I talk to about this guy?”

“No one other than Q is gonna talk to you about him. They’re all too scared.”

“Leave that to me. Give me a name. Someone’s had dealings with him, right?”

He hesitated. “Some say he’s done business with an enchanter near here.” Orestes said the word “enchanter” as if it were something dirty. To those skilled in the use of magic, enchanters were weremyste wannabes, people who dabbled in conjuring but had learned little craft. He might as well have called the guy a fraud. “A boy named Antoine Mirdoux. Another brother from Haiti.”

“Mirdoux,” I repeated. “Sounds familiar.”

“He’s been around a little while, but he’s just a kid. Calls himself ’Toine. Thinks he’s goin’ to be somethin’ big, you know what Q’s sayin’? Thinks he’s goin’ to be the next Brother Q.” He shook his head. “But the boy ain’t got the chops.”

“Where can I find him?”

“Like I said, it’s not far. He has a place just off of Thomas; I think it’s on 18th. It’s white, but it needs paint. There’s — ” He stopped and waved his hand, in the general direction. “You’ll see the wardings on it. Pale green; very weak.”

I handed him the two twenties. “Thanks.”

“Did you mean what you said before? Is this hell sorcerer really targetin’ you?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing I’d kept that bit of information to myself. “Yeah,” I said. “At least I think it was him. It felt like someone was about to use assailing magic against me. I warded myself both times, but no attack ever came.”

“Both times,” Orestes said. “It’s happened twice?”

I nodded. He grimaced.

“Have you considered whether you might be better off leavin’ him be?” he asked.

I didn’t bother to answer. Instead, I reached for the door. “Thanks again.”

“Brother Q has one favor that he’d ask of you. .”

This one I’d heard before; his standard parting line. “Please don’t tell a soul that you heard it from Q,” we said together.

“You got it,” I told him. “Stay safe.”

“You, too. Keep your head down.”

Right. I got back in the car and drove east on Thomas and then turned onto 18th. Antoine Mirdoux lived in Mountain View’s 733 beat, another garden spot. To a civilian-one crazy enough to be walking these streets-there wasn’t a whole lot of difference among the beats in this part of town. A person could drive from one to the next without knowing it. But to the cops working the neighborhoods, each beat had a personality, a flavor. I’m sure the 733 was like that, a place that cops came to know and even like, in a perverse sort of way. To me though, these were just streets and ramshackle houses, places where a dark sorcerer could be waiting, watching for me. The area around Orestes’ place I knew; I’d been there enough times before to make even those rough streets feel familiar. But as I drove the Z-ster up and down 18th, looking for a house that glowed with pale green magic, I felt like a soldier entering an urban war zone for the first time. These streets were alien to me, and I could almost feel the danger crawling up my arms and legs, making me shiver. As I drifted past, kids and old people stared at me, grim and hostile. They knew I didn’t belong there; they might even have sensed an ill omen in my coming. I kept my speed the same, trying not to make eye contact as I searched for Antoine’s house.

I spotted it about a block short. Like Orestes’ house, it was dripping with magic-between Orestes and Antoine, I was beginning to feel like I should go home and put a few spells on my place. It seemed there were some heavy clouds looming on the magical horizon.

I couldn’t tell for certain in the daylight, but Antoine’s magic did appear to be a very pale green, about the same color you might see on a traffic light. At least I knew that he wasn’t our killer.

I drove past the house and parked two doors down, not wanting to spook him. I tucked my weapon into my shoulder holster, walked to the door, and knocked.

No answer. I raised my hand to knock again, and as I did, several things happened at once.

I felt a pulse of magic aimed at me through the door-an assailing spell-and without even thinking, I warded myself. When in doubt, go back to what you know best. I used a deflection spell.

I didn’t know what ’Toine had in mind for me when I redirected his assault at the first thing I thought of: his door, to be precise. But given the way the door exploded inward, I guessed that he wanted me blown up. The wood shattered with a sound like thunder from a too-close lighting strike and fragments of the door and flecks of old white paint flew through the house like flakes in a snow globe.