David Coe - Spell Blind

Barry gave a small frown. “I suppose.”

“But you don’t think he is.”

“I don’t know enough about the guy to think anything. But I’ve never heard of a weremyste making himself stronger with magic. We cast spells, we hone our craft, we practice. But using magic to strengthen our magic?” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I believe it.”

“Yeah, all right. Thanks, Barry.”

“No problem. And don’t be such a stranger,” he called after me.

I walked away, raising a hand as I went. I made my way around the rest of the market, unsure as to what, exactly, I was trying to find. I figured I’d know it when I saw it.

I was right.

Near the back of the market, as far as possible from where I had parked, a woman sat under a small white tent selling an odd assortment of oils, herbs, and stones carved into animal shapes: owls, snakes, bears, wolves. They resembled Zuni fetishes in a superficial way, but I could tell they were knock-offs. In fact, her entire display could have come from one of those New Age stores in a mall; I doubted that any of what she was selling had much value for a weremyste. I noticed a small sign taped to one of the tent legs; it said “Renewing Designs, Shari Bettancourt.” It gave a website and PO address in Tempe.

I no more than glanced at the woman as I gave her table a quick scan and prepared to move on. Then I froze, eyeing the woman once more, my gaze settling on a pendant that hung around her neck. She wore a long multi-color batik dress with a v-neck. The necklace was barely visible beneath it. But I could see a small stone and the silver setting around it. And I was certain that the stone glowed with a faint shimmering of crimson magic.

The woman was speaking to another customer, and at first paid no attention to me. I stared at the stone, stepping closer to her table. The other customer walked away, but I hardly noticed.

“May I help you?”

I tore my eyes away from the pendant, forcing myself to look at her. She appeared to be in her forties. There were small lines around her mouth and eyes, and her short, dark hair was streaked with strands of gray. She had a pleasant, round face and pale blue eyes.

“Yes,” I said, finding my voice. “I was. . I was admiring your necklace.”

“Isn’t it pretty?” she said. But her smile tightened and she adjusted her dress so that it covered the pendant.

“Yes,” I said. “That red stone is quite remarkable.”

“It’s garnet,” she told me. “It’s a healing stone, and a protector.”

I nodded, meeting her gaze again.

“I have some garnets here,” she said, pointing to a small wooden box that contained a few pieces of raw red crystal. Compared to the glowing pendant, they appeared dull, lifeless. “Of course, they need to be polished to shine like mine.”

“Yes, of course. Where did you find yours? Shari, is it?”

Her gaze wavered; her smile vanished. “Yes, I’m Shari. I. . I don’t remember where I got it. I think it was a gift, but I’ve had it for a very long time.”

She wasn’t a very good liar.

“Can I see it again?”

Shari hesitated, then drew the pendant out from under her dress and held it up for me. I noticed that her hand trembled.

“That’s a lovely stone,” I said. “It’s so bright, it could almost be glowing.”

She slipped it back into her dress. “Trick of the light,” she said.

“I’m not sure it was. I think it was magic.” I kept my tone light, trying to make it sound like an observation rather than an accusation, but you wouldn’t have known it from her response.

“Well, I think I’d know if it was magic, wouldn’t I?” she said her tone turning brusque. She dismissed me with a flick of her eyes and spied an older man walking near her tent. “Good morning,” she called. “How are you today?”

The man offered a vague smile and half-hearted wave as he continued by. But Shari had made her point: our conversation was over.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” I said. That was a lie, too. I’d meant to spook her.

She scrutinized her goods, and made a show of rearranging several of the items. “You didn’t,” she said, her voice clipped.

I watched her a moment longer, then turned and walked away. I left the park by way of a nearby path that led onto the street running behind her booth, and went so far as to walk past her tent once more, so that she might see me over the small hedge growing there. I wanted her to think that I’d come on foot. Once I was sure she couldn’t see me anymore, I circled back to the Z-ster, pulled out of the parking lot, and then positioned it along a curb where I could watch the market entrance.

As I expected, Shari didn’t stay there much longer. I’d scared her too much. She came out a short time later wheeling a large, battered suitcase that must have held her goods. Her folded tent was tied to it with bungee cords. She walked hurriedly to a small hatchback, heaved the suitcase into the back, and pulled out of the lot. I kept low as she drove by me and then followed at a safe distance.

She drove straight back to Tempe, sticking to back roads, and eventually pulled into a driveway beside a small house near the sports complex south of the University. I parked nearby and waited until she was back in her house before walking up the path to her door and knocking.

Shari was slow to answer, and I began to wonder if I’d scared her too much. But then the door opened a crack and she peered out at me over the chain.

“Yes? What-” Her mouth fell open. “You,” she whispered. “How did you-?”

“I followed you.”

“You had no right!”

I showed her my license. “My name is Jay Fearsson, Ms. Bettancourt. I’m a private investigator. I’m doing some work on the Blind Angel killings. I need to ask you some questions.”

She shook her head. Opening the door a bit more, she looked past me into the street, her eyes wide and fearful. “You have to leave. Now, before he sees you.”

“You mean the man who gave you that necklace? The one who used his magic on it?”

Her eyes snapped to me and she opened her mouth, then closed it again. “You have to leave,” she said again, and started to close the door.

“I’ll tell the police to speak with you,” I said, blurting it out.

She’d nearly gotten the door shut, but now she opened it again, appearing even more frightened than she had before. “You can’t!”

“I will. I have to. We have to stop him.”

The woman laughed, sounding half-nuts, as if her phasing had already begun.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” she said. “You can’t stop him anymore than you can stop the moon from rising.”

“He’s a powerful weremyste, I know. But. .”

I broke off. She was laughing again, though there were tears in her eyes.

“You’re an idiot. Get out of here before you get me killed. Please!”

“Who is he? What’s his name? You have to tell me something! Anything!”

She shook her head, scanning the street again.

“He’ll kill again, Shari. You know he will. But we can stop him.”

“No, you can’t!” she said, her tone fierce. “No one can! He’s much, much more than you think he is.”

“What do you mean? Tell me about the magic he used on your necklace.”

Her hand strayed to her chest, where the pendant lay beneath her dress. Then she gripped the door again. “You have to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “You know what this man’s done. You know how many people he’s killed. You have to help me stop him.”

She hesitated, and I wondered if maybe I had gotten through to her.

“I will,” she said. “Really. But not now, not here. You have to go. Please.” This last she whispered. There were tears on her face.