David Coe - Spell Blind

My next and final challenge would be to trip the magic. Motion hadn’t done it, and since it would have been easy to shatter a window from a distance, I couldn’t imagine that something so simple would either. In which case, the magic must have worked like a home security system. I had to open something, break the contact, as it were. But of course, I didn’t want to be anywhere near whatever it was I opened.

I started by using masking tape on the door, to keep it from moving before I wanted. Then, with the care of a burglar, I unlocked it and secured the latch, so that nothing was holding the door closed but that tape. Finally, I got some cord from the kitchen and tied it to the door handle.

I stood all the way back in the kitchen, but peered around at the door, the cord wrapped around my fist. I was sweating like an overworked horse and my hands were trembling. I checked my wardings once more, to make certain they were in place, and then for good measure, I sheathed myself in magic as well.

Deep breath. And then I yanked hard on the cord.

I’d been expecting something spectacular, and I wasn’t disappointed. The force of the explosion knocked me off my feet and made the place quake. Bright yellow flames shot out the door and out a few of the living room windows. I suppose Red wanted people to believe it had been an accident, a natural gas explosion or something like that. And they would have.

I lay dazed on the floor for several seconds. Then I crawled into the living room, my ears ringing, expecting to see the place in shambles. Miraculously, though, my wardings had held. The door was black and smoking, there were new cracks in the walls and ceiling, and several windows were broken. But the damage to the house was minimal considering.

I sat, leaned against a wall, and took a deep breath.

“Justis!”

Kona appeared in the doorway, her weapon drawn, real fear on her face.

“Here,” I said from the floor.

She holstered her pistol and hurried over.

“You all right?” she asked, squatting beside me.

I nodded.

“What the hell was that?”

“A present from our friend.”

She hung her head and shook it. “I’m really starting to hate this guy.”

“Oh?” I said. “He blow up your place, too?”

Kona stuck around for a while and helped me clean up the worst of the mess from Red’s pyrotechnics display. I found some old cardboard boxes in the garage and cut out pieces to fit in the window frames in place of broken panes. One of my neighbors called the fire department, but when the engines rolled up, Kona convinced the fire fighters that we had the situation under control. I wondered though if I’d set some kind of city record for initiating 911 calls in a two-day period-Shari Bettancourt’s house, the bar, Antoine’s house, Q’s place, and now this. Not to mention Robby Sommer. Death and mayhem seemed to follow me around.

When we’d done all we could to clean things up, Kona took a seat in the kitchen. I gave her a beer, filled a glass of water for myself, and sat across the table from her. I’d picked up a small scrap of wood from the door, and I was toying with it.

“What’s that?” Kona asked.

“Part of my door. Red’s magic is still on it.”

“Red?”

“That’s what I’ve been calling him. His magic’s red, so. .” I shrugged.

She laughed. “Dude’s blowing up your house, killing people right and left, and you’ve named him like he was some damn pet.” She shook her head. “You’re a piece of work.”

I grinned. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“He knows where you live now,” she said, growing serious again. “That can’t be good. Maybe you should stay with Margarite and me tonight.”

“I can’t tonight. You know that.”

“Why not?”

“Tomorrow’s the full moon, Kona.”

She stared at me for a second, looking lost. Then it hit her. “Oh,” she said, sounding like someone had punched her in the gut. “I knew that. That’s why I’m here, right?” She shook her head. “Crap.” It took her only a few moments to recover. “Well, that’s all the more reason you shouldn’t be alone. I can stay here with you.”

“Thanks, partner, but I’ll be all right. And it wouldn’t be safe for you, remember.”

“Right,” she said. “Twice the magic; half the control.”

We’d been through this conversation before. I had always appreciated her offers to stay with me during the phasings, but I’d never let her do it. I didn’t want anyone around me when I was sinking into the delusions and psychosis, in part because I was afraid I’d hurt someone, and in part because I dreaded being seen like that.

“But,” she said, “if this sorcerer-”

“It’s full moon for him, too,” I reminded her. “He might be strong, but he can’t change what it means to be a weremyste.” I shook my head. “Red won’t bother me tonight.”

“Would you stop calling him that, please. It makes him sound like an Irish setter.”

“We can call him whatever you want. The fact is, he’ll be dealing with his own phasing tonight.”

“What about tomorrow morning? And the day after that, and the night after that?” She glanced out at my living room. There was dry wall dust all over the floor and furniture and there were cracks in the walls and ceiling. Kona couldn’t see the residue of Red’s magic and mine as I could, but that hardly mattered. “I’ve never tried to tell you how to use your mojo, Justis. I don’t know anything about it. But it seems to me you need some help here. You’re in over your head.”

As if I needed her telling me that. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been working with Namid, improving my spell work.”

“How’s that going?” she asked, sounding skeptical.

“I’m alive,” I said. “A week ago, I wouldn’t have survived what he did to my house.”

I didn’t tell her that I was still a novice compared to this guy, or that I had no confidence that I could survive his next attack. But I’m not sure she needed to be told.

“All right,” she said. “I’m going to assume that you know what you’re doing.”

I chuckled. “When has that ever been a good idea?” My gaze strayed toward the window. The sky was almost dark. The moon might well have been rising at that moment. “You should go,” I said, knowing it sounded abrupt, rude even. Just then I didn’t care. “Another five minutes and I won’t be much fun to be around.”

“There’s an assumption there,” she said, smiling at me. “But we’ll discuss it another time. I should get home to Margarite anyway. I told her I’d met Billie and she’s eager for details.” She finished her beer and put the bottle in the sink. “Call me in the morning,” she said, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I want to know you’re all right.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I didn’t really want her to leave, but I didn’t want her to stay, either.

She put out her hand. We’d done this a hundred times before, but tonight it felt more final, more frightening. I pulled my Glock from my shoulder holster, removed the magazine, and handed the weapon to her. I was about to be delusional, and who knew what else. Having a weapon in the house would have been dangerous, to say the least. As an afterthought, I pulled off the holster and hung it on my chair.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

I sat at the table, staring at the wood grain, and I listened as she let herself out of what was left of my house.

Still I sat, and I began to hear noises. Shouts from out on the street, or maybe from my living room. I shrank back from what I saw at the door, at the broken windows. Red and aqua light played around the edges of the walls and framing. Wardings. I’d used wardings there. Against Red.