David Coe - Spell Blind

My initial thought was that Orestes had sold the kid short, making him sound like some kind of hack conjurer. He wasn’t a master yet-if he had been, I’d have been killed by the explosion-but he was better than Orestes had made him sound. I should have recognized Brother Q’s attitude for what it was: professional jealousy. ’Toine was every bit the sorcerer Orestes had been the first time I busted him. Give the kid a few years, and he’d be a force in this town.

In the next instant I realized that I’d heard another sound after the door vaporized. A second door had opened on the far side of the house and a moment later a screen door had slammed shut. I sprinted through the house and out the back in time to see a young black man disappear around a corner. It was Robby-freaking-Sommer all over again. And my leg still hurt.

But ’Toine had tried to kill me, and I was pissed. It was amazing what a bit of anger could do to strengthen a person’s magic. Turning that same corner, I saw Mirdoux running away from me, and I tried the most basic assailing spell I could think of, something so simple that he never would have expected it, something so harmless that if he reflected it back at me, it wouldn’t do any damage.

Three elements. My hand, his foot, his momentum. As I’ve said, the words don’t matter; it’s all visualization.

’Toine went down in a heap, the way he would have if I’d been close enough to grab his foot in the middle of his stride.

I ran toward him, warding myself as I did. I almost pulled out my Glock, but then I thought better of it. I didn’t want him panicking, and I didn’t want to give him another target for his magic.

As I got near him, I slowed to a walk. He had sat up, and was glaring at me. I expected him to cast a spell my way at any moment.

“Don’t even think about it, Antoine,” I said, still easing toward him. “I’m a better conjurer than you are.”

“The hell you are, man!”

“Have you seen your door lately?”

He said nothing, but if he’d been able to turn that glower into magic, I’d have been little more than ash.

Antoine couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old, and he was surprisingly clean-cut for a kid who’d tried to splatter me all over his front steps. His hair was short and neatly cut, his face was square, his skin smooth. It was hard to tell with him on the ground, but I don’t think he would have stood much more than five-six or five-seven. He was broad in the shoulders and lean, and he wore a diamond stud in his left ear.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked. ’Toine may have been from Haiti, but he had no accent, and I had the feeling that he could have spoken like a news anchor if he’d chosen to.

“You’re trying to kill me, and you don’t even know?”

“I know you don’t belong ’round here. I know you got no business knockin’ on my door.”

“So you’d have tried to blow me up even if I’d been selling Bibles?”

“You don’t look like no Bible salesman.”

“No? What do I look like?”

“A cop.”

I guess it never really goes away. It’s not like I could argue with the kid. “It would have been pretty stupid to blow up a cop.”

“Man, what are you talkin’ about with that blowin’ up shit? I didn’t try to blow up nobody.”

“No? Then what was that spell you threw at me through what used to be your door?”

“Nothin’ you ever heard of, man.” He grinned. “It’s one of my own. It would have felt like somebody shattered a beer bottle on your head. Would have put you out cold.” The smile vanished. “Instead, you gotta go and destroy my house.”

Either he was lying or I was far more powerful than I’d ever thought and had unwittingly found some way to amplify his assailing spell. Guess which one I was betting on.

“I’m not a cop, Antoine,” I said. “I’m a private investigator.” I pulled out my wallet and showed him my PI’s license. “My name is Jay Fearsson. I’m doing some work on the Blind Angel murders.”

He stared past me. “Never heard of them.”

“No? Maybe you heard that Claudia Deegan was killed.”

“Never heard of her, neither.”

Well, now I had to reconsider, because ’Toine was about the worst liar I’d ever met. What the hell had happened to his door?

“You know what? I think you’re full of shit. I think you ran away from me because you’re into something that you can’t handle and you’re scared out of your mind.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Claudia Deegan was killed with magic.”

“Bad luck.”

“Every Blind Angel victim was killed with magic.”

His eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“I used to be a cop. And I’m a weremyste, too. Remember? I saw the magic on them.”

“Then you know it’s not mine, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. I know that it belongs to someone with real power.”

“Fuck you, man!”

“The magic that killed those kids was red. Deep red, almost the color of blood. And the magic on Claudia Deegan had faded nearly to nothing in the span of about two days. There can’t be more than five people in the entire country with power like that.”

He refused again to meet my gaze. But he was clenching his jaw, and I had the sense that he was considering another assailing spell.

“Like I said, man, if you cast, then you know what my stuff is like. It ain’t red, and it don’t disappear after no two days. So you know it wasn’t me.”

“Maybe, but I think you know who this sorcerer is.”

“You think wrong, then, cop .”

I squatted down and got right in his face, forcing him to look me in the eye. “Like I said, little man, I’m not a cop anymore. But I’ve still got friends on the force. And who do you think they turn to when they’re working cases that involve magic?” I tapped my chest. “Me. All I have to do is give the word and they’ll be all over you. You’ll spend the rest of your life rotting in jail, wishing you were a good enough conjurer to get yourself out, and wondering why you were so stupid as to piss me off.”

He was working up to another attack. I could see it in his eyes; I could hear it in the rasp of his breathing. I pushed hard enough, and I got exactly what I expected. For all his talent and potential, ’Toine was still just a kid, playing with toys he didn’t quite understand.

The spell he threw at me was similar to the one Robby Sommer had used against me-a basic fire spell. Rudimentary stuff. But he was angry enough that this time he might have been trying to kill me, and so I went with de flection rather than re flection. I didn’t want to hurt him. But he needed to know that he didn’t want to be screwing around with me. I aimed the bounce at the wall directly behind him, so that ’Toine’s own fire flew past the side of his head, missing him by maybe an inch and blackening the wall with the sound of sizzling fat.

“Shit!” he spat, ducking away.

“Next time, I won’t miss,” I told him. “Tell me who this guy is, or I’ll bring the cops down on you. I’m a PI; I just want to get paid. And all the cops care about is clearing the case. None of us gives a crap if you go down for it. Hell, if I tell them that it’s your color on Claudia Deegan, they’re not going to know any different.” I shrugged. “Now, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve got nothing against you. I’d rather see this other guy off the streets. And I bet you wouldn’t mind using a bit less mojo around the house.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man,” he said. “I don’t know any red magic sorcerer.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Who sent you here, anyway? Somebody got it in for me?”