His Father's Eyes - eARC (25 page)

He nodded and looked around the bedroom. “I don’t suppose anyone thought to crawl inside my place and get me a change of clothes.”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Oh, well.” He stood and followed me out into the living room where he greeted Kona with a hug and introduced himself to Kevin. I fixed the two of us some scrambled eggs and toast, and, as I cooked, finished my conversation with Kona and Kevin. When they left, my father and I went outside and sat on the front steps to eat our breakfast.

I expect that he felt as muddled as I did, and for a time we ate in silence.

Then Saorla popped into view in front of us, and we both dropped our forks, just about in unison.

I cast a quick warding to protect both of us. The necromancer laughed at the touch of my magic.

“You still believe that your wardings can stop me?”

“I have no idea. But as long as I can cast, I’ll keep protecting myself.”

She shrugged, as if she didn’t care one way or another. “I did not come to kill you, though kill you I will.” She smiled. “Yes, Namid’skemu protects you still as part of the bargain we struck. But with time his vigilance will slacken, and then I will have my revenge.”

“Well, until then,” my dad said, “why don’t you leave us the hell alone?”

“I miss you, Leander Fearsson. I miss being in your mind. I miss hurting you.”

“Forgive me if I don’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

“Perhaps you would miss me more if I looked like this.” Her body flickered like a dying light bulb, much as it had the night before, and she stood before us in my mother’s form, her hair down, the same cornflower dress bringing out the blue in her eyes.

“Get out of here,” I said. “Before I summon Namid.”

“You sound like a child. You will call for Daddy if I don’t leave you alone?”

She was right, that was exactly how I sounded. But I didn’t have the power to drive her off on my own. My father’s face had gone ashen, but he continued to stare at her. I don’t think he was capable of doing anything else.

“Go,” I said, putting as much menace into the word as I could.

She laughed and faded slowly, still in my mother’s body. “Until next time,” she said, the voice and accent all Saorla.

Once she was gone, my father took a long shuddering breath.

“Sorry,” he said. “I should have . . . I don’t know. I should have done something.” He set his plate aside.

I did as well. Neither of us had finished our meals, but my appetite was gone, as was my dad’s, I’m sure. I stood, walked a few steps down the path toward the street, to the place where Saorla had stood. Then I turned.

“What happened, Dad?”

I blurted the question, not even bothering to explain what I meant. He knew: my mom’s death, and that of Elliott Hesslan. The question had been burning inside me for years, through all the accusations and whispered rumors, through all the dead, silent moments we had spent together. God knew I’d wanted to ask a thousand times, and always I swallowed the words. It was none of my business, I had told myself, though of course it was. He’d tell me when he was ready. But I had known that he wouldn’t. Only now, after all that had happened in the past few days, had I finally given voice to that desperate need to know. And again, I had sounded like a little kid, unable to contain myself any longer.

He regarded me from the stairs, his eyes sunken, his shoulders slumped. Already, I regretted asking. No matter how much I wanted to know, he didn’t deserve to be put through having to tell me.

I opened my mouth to say as much, but he held up a hand, stopping me. A tear spilled down his cheek and then another.

“I should have told you a long time ago,” he said, emotion roughening the words. “But I didn’t know how, and I’m not always able to . . . well, you know.”

“I do know. You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Of course you should have. You should have asked me when you were a kid, but I understood that you couldn’t. That was my fault. I shouldn’t have waited for you. But I was chicken.”

He buried his face in his hands, and I thought he was crying. But when he lifted his head again a few seconds later, his eyes were dry.

“She should have left me. The phasings were wearing me down, and I was drinking too much, afraid of what the moon was doing to my brain. She should have left. But she loved me, I guess. And she was nuts about you, and she knew I was as well. ‘A boy needs his father.’ She said that to me the one time I asked her why she continued to stick around. She wouldn’t leave because that would have meant taking you, and she didn’t want to do that.

“But she was angry, and hurt, and she needed someone. We’d met the Hesslans a couple of times—mutual friends, I think. It’s funny, I don’t remember the name of the couple who introduced us. But Elliott and Mary seemed nice enough. I didn’t give them much thought. Dara did, though. She was friends with Mary first, but she and Elliott both liked to garden. That was what did it in the end. Tomato patches and marigolds.” His laugh tipped over into a sob. But after a moment he went on in a low quaver. “I don’t think she was out there searching for someone to replace me. Not really. But like I say, she needed more than I could give her, and he was the one she found.

“Thing was, he was looking for her in particular.”

That I hadn’t expected. “What?”

Dad nodded. “He was after her. After me, really. But through her. Hesslan was into dark magic, and even then there were beings like that one.” He pointed to where the necromancer had been standing.

“Like Saorla?” I said.

“Yeah, like her. For all I know, it was her. He started the affair with your mom and made her believe that he loved her. But then he started asking questions, trying to make her tell him stuff about me and my magic. At least that’s what I think happened. I pieced most of it together after the fact. But I’m right. I know I am.”

“So he was asking questions,” I prompted.

“That’s right. And she got suspicious. Smart lady, your mom. She figured out that he was a weremyste, too, and she was pissed. When she worked out that he was using her to get to me, I think she tried to break it off. He must have threatened to expose the affair to everyone, including you, because . . .” He took a long breath. “Because she killed him. And then she killed herself.”

“
She
killed
him
,” I repeated in a whisper.

Dad nodded. “That much I know for certain. I know how to read a crime scene, and I was the one who found them.” His voice had gone flat, and his gaze was unfocused. “They were in a hotel. I’d followed them there a week or so before, and that night I was going to confront them. Never got the chance. She stabbed him in the heart, and then used the same knife to cut her carotid artery. She was dead in minutes.

“I altered the crime scene. Not a lot, but enough to make it less clear who killed who. I couldn’t leave her there like she was, knowing that she’d be thought of as a murderer. That’s why so many in the department thought I’d done it, because I was the one who found the bodies, and because the evidence was too hard to read. I didn’t care, really. I’d have taken the rap for her if it came to that. Hell, there was a part of me that would have been happy to kill the bastard myself.”

He swallowed and faced me. “I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Stop. No apologies. I know now. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m sorry you know.”

“I’m not. I appreciate you telling me.”

“Did you ever think that I’d killed her?”

“Not once, not even for a second. I think you know there was a time when I hated you, when I blamed you for every bad thing in my life, stupid as that was. But even then I knew you hadn’t killed her.”

He nodded, even chanced a smile. Tears streaked his face again.

CHAPTER 25

Later that day I went to see Billie, who was continuing to improve. For once, I didn’t need to rush my visit. I had nowhere else I needed to be, and no fear of running into the police. I sat with her, told her about all that had happened in recent days. I even brought lunch with me—fajitas, of course. We were able to spend a few hours together.

After, I went back home, picked up my dad, and drove out to Wofford to assess the damage to his trailer. My first reaction upon seeing the wreckage was that it was far, far worse than I had remembered. But he seemed pretty upbeat and thought that if we could find a way to prop it back up, it would just be a matter of replacing the cinder blocks and windows, as well as whatever items inside had been broken when it fell. He had homeowner’s insurance, but I wasn’t convinced that it would cover this. The trailer was supposed to be sitting on a foundation, not on blocks. Still, I didn’t argue, and I tried to sound as optimistic as he did.

We got back to Chandler well before the moonrise and hunkered down for the night. Like me, Dad preferred to endure the phasing alone, so he retreated to the guest room and I retreated to my bedroom. But to be honest, as the second night of the phasing began, I found something oddly comforting in knowing that he was nearby, going through it with me.

We passed the third day and night of the phasing much the same way—I went to see Billie again, and Dad and I drove back out to Wofford with a new set of cinder blocks and the phone number of a guy who claimed that he could “tow, lift, or dig anything.” He joined us on my dad’s land and, after assessing the damage and hemming and hawing a bit, said that he could put it back in place. For a couple of thousand dollars. I thought the price was outrageous, but again Dad took it in stride and even talked him down to eighteen hundred. A handshake later we had an appointment for Friday morning.

The following day, the first after the phasing, I was awakened by a call from Jacinto Amaya, who requested that I join him at his home.

I drove to his place and went through the usual security check by his guys, though they were friendlier this time. Rolon met me at the door with a smile and a thump on the back and led me to Jacinto’s living room. Amaya greeted me there, shaking my hand and steering me toward the bar.

“I thought I’d hear from you before now,” he said. “I believe I owe you money. Drink?”

“No, thanks. And you don’t owe me a thing. You gave me a thousand up front, and I only worked for you for three days. If anything, I owe you a hundred bucks.”

He shook his head. “Nonsense.” And then he handed me a check drawn on the Chofi account. It was in the amount of ten thousand dollars.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Consider it a bonus. You did good work, Jay. Together, we struck a hard blow against dark magic in the Phoenix area. Sure, Witcombe is still alive, but that’s hardly your fault.”

I held out the check to him. “I can’t take this. You’ve paid me what I earned. Things are settled between us.”

“You’re refusing a gift from me?” he asked, an edge to the question. I remembered what Rolon had said about refusing to accept the Glock as a gift.
He’ll be insulted, and he’s not a man you want to piss off . . .

That might have been so, but he also wasn’t a man to whom I wished to be beholden to the tune of ten thousand dollars.

“I don’t work for you, Mister Amaya. I was happy to take you on as a client, and I’ll do so again, if you need me. But this . . .”

“You need the money,” he said. “I know you do, if not for you then for your father. His place was wrecked the other night. I was there, remember?”

I said nothing.

“No strings attached. I swear it.” He smiled, and it appeared genuine. “This is what I do for my friends. Now, don’t tell me that you would refuse my friendship.”

If refusing a Glock would piss him off, I guessed that refusing his friendship would be a good deal worse.

“No, sir. I wouldn’t.”

“Good. Then take the check. Fix up your father’s place. If there’s money left over, buy something nice for Miss Castle.”

He knew too much about me, and now that he had equated the check with his friendship, he knew as well that I had no choice but to take it. And regardless of what he said, I had the feeling that this money came with all sorts of strings. I couldn’t see yet where they led, but they were there, as fine and strong as spider’s silk.

I pulled out my wallet, folded the check with care, and slipped it into the billfold. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure,” he said with too much enthusiasm for my taste.

“You were right,” I said, returning the wallet to my pocket.

“Of course I was. About what?”

I had to grin. “About competition from dark sorcerers. I’m pretty sure that Patty Hesslan-Fine, the woman who lit herself on fire, had every intention of building a criminal empire to rival yours. She was going to hide it within the workings of her real estate business.”

His expression had darkened. “What makes you think so?”

“Just something she said. Witcombe won’t chance it—you have nothing to fear from her—but Patty would have.”

“And now that she’s gone, someone else will step forward to take her place.”

I nodded. “Probably.”

“Then our work isn’t done. But we both knew that, didn’t we?”

I didn’t like the idea of being in a longterm alliance with Jacinto Amaya, but I found it hard to argue with his logic.

“Yes, sir, I guess we did.” I turned to go.

“You orchestrated things very well,” Amaya said, stopping me.

“I’m sorry?”

“The other night. You brought together my men, your father, the runemystes, not to mention two homicide detectives from the Phoenix Police Department. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. And what’s more, you made it work. That was impressive.”

I shrugged. “Thank you. But you were the one who hired me in the first place, who enlisted me in a war I hadn’t known was going on and had no intention of fighting. You did as much orchestrating as I did.”

“True. Clearly we work well together.”

“I prefer to work alone.” It was probably a foolish thing for me to say, but I couldn’t help myself.

Amaya didn’t seem to take offense. “So do I. But there may come a time—another one—when we won’t have that choice.”

I considered this, and decided once more that I couldn’t argue the point. We chatted for a few moments more, until at last I managed to leave. I was glad to get away.

I drove next to 620. I parked nearby and walked to the front entrance, running into Kona just as I reached the door.

“Hey there, stranger,” she said, a brilliant smile on her face. “You here to see me?”

“Actually, no. I’m here to see Hibbard.”

Her entire bearing changed. “He call you in?” she asked, sounding concerned. “Because if he’s still trying to pin the Royce murder—”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I came here on my own. I want to talk to him.”

“And you think that’s a good idea.”

I grinned. “I think it’s something I need to do.”

She pursed her lips for a moment. “Well, I’ll assume you know what you’re doing.”

“Right, because that always works out so well.”

She didn’t laugh, but she opened the door and held it for me.

In truth, I wasn’t any more convinced than she that coming to see Hibbard made sense. But now that I knew what had happened to my mother, I wanted him to know as well.

I went to his office, second-guessing myself with every step I took. By the time I knocked on his door, my pulse was racing. He called for me to come in, and I opened the door.

Seeing me, his face reddened. “What the hell do you want?”

“I’d like to talk to you if I may.”

“About what?” he demanded, sounding as though there was no answer I could give that would satisfy him.

“About my father.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. “What about him?”

I pointed at the chair opposite his desk. “May I?”

He hesitated, nodded. “Close the door.”

I told him all of it. Everything. I started by admitting that both of us were weremystes who didn’t take blockers. I tried to explain what that meant, but he stopped me.

“I know more about magic than you think,” he said. “I’ve been a cop in this town for a long time. Go on.”

From there, I told him about this most recent case, about all that had been done to my dad by the dark sorcerers. And I concluded by repeating almost word for word what Dad had told me about my mother’s death.

For a long time after I finished, Hibbard said nothing. He had shifted his chair so that he could look out his window without turning his back on me, and he had his fingers steepled, his index fingers resting lightly against his lips.

“Why did you tell me that?” he asked, his voice subdued.

“I thought you should know.”

“Did he send you?”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t know I’m here. But once upon a time, you were his best friend. And I know you cared about my mom, too.”

“How is he? The last I heard he was . . .”

“He’s in and out,” I said. “He has a few good days, but mostly he’s what you’d expect of a burned-out old weremyste.”

He nodded.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. At last I stood and said, “Well, that was all I came to tell you. Thank you for seeing me.”

I stepped to the door.

“Are you angling to come back to the force?”

I bristled at the question, though his tone had been mild and not at all accusatory.

“No, sir. I miss the job, but I’m doing all right on my own. And I don’t expect that anyone in a position of power would take me back.”

“Probably not, no.” He swiveled so that he was facing me. “Shaw tells me that your input on the Howell murder, and also on the killing in Sweetwater Park, was invaluable.”

“I was happy to help.”

I expected a snide response, but he just nodded again. “Thanks for telling me this,” he said. “I . . . I’m glad the rumors weren’t true.”

I waited, wondering if he would say more, or if that was as close as he could come to admitting that he had been wrong about my old man. When he didn’t say anything else, I let myself out of his office, left 620, and drove back to Chandler.

Namid kept his distance for about a week. When he finally materialized again in my living room, it was late at night. Dad was still staying with me, but he had already gone to sleep.

“Ohanko,” the runemyste said. “It has been too long since you trained.” He lowered himself to the floor and eyed me with that same annoyingly expectant expression, like a puppy waiting to be walked.

“Not so fast, ghost.” I ignored his rumble of protest. “What have you done with Saorla?”

“We have done nothing with her. She remains free to do as she pleases, except that she cannot trouble you or your father, and she is watched at all times. If she attempts to kill more of our kind, we will stop her.”

“There’ll be others you know.” I heard an echo of Amaya’s words in my own, but I pressed on. “She can’t be the only necromancer who wants all of you destroyed.”

“Assuredly she is not. But we know nothing of others, and so for now we can do little about them. We will watch Saorla, and perhaps we will learn of others from her.”

It wasn’t the most reassuring of strategies, but it wasn’t the worst I’d heard, either.

“Now,” he said, “sit and clear yourself.”

I sat across from him and closed my eyes, summoning the calming image of my Golden Eagle. When I felt that I was cleared, I opened my eyes once more.

He nodded once. “Defend yourself.”

I got my dad settled back into his trailer a few days later and the following morning brought Billie back to her home in Tempe. We spent a quiet day together making her house a bit more comfortable and convenient for someone with an arm in a cast. And I stayed with her for a few nights—purely to make sure that she was okay. Right.

The following Tuesday, she and I went out to Wofford for my usual visit with my dad. Even through the phasing - not the nights, of course, but the days—he had been unusually lucid. Maybe it was the relief of no longer having to endure the torment meted out by the necromancers. Whatever the reason, I had started to take the clarity of our conversations for granted.

When we arrived on this day, though, he was hunched in his chair, mumbling to himself, his T-shirt stained. He wore no socks, and he smelled like he hadn’t showered in a few days. Despite Namid’s assurances, my first thought was that Saorla had recommenced her attacks on him.

But he wasn’t flinching, and his color was good.

“How are you feeling, Dad?” I asked, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead.

“Hot wind blowing,” he said. “It’s that brown haze on the city. Makes the wind hot, hurts my eyes and my throat. Used to be you could count on the birds to keep it cool, to bring rain and such. Not anymore. Birds are as helpless as we are. More. That wind bothers them—keeps them from flying straight.”

On and on he went. A classic Leander Fearsson rant. There was no point to it, no beginning or end. Just the random thoughts of a crazy old runecrafter. It was perfectly normal for him, but still it broke my heart. Billie sat beside me and we both listened. Occasionally we tried to engage him, though it did little good. But she held my hand, and she got me through it. By the time we left he was dressed in a clean T-shirt and was balancing a plate of fresh-cooked steak and roasted potatoes in his lap. I felt that we’d done everything we could. Until next week.

“Come on, Fearsson,” Billie said, pulling me gently toward the car. “We’ll get some dinner and watch a movie. He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I know.” And I did. He was safe, at least for now. But there was no way to change who and what he had become over the years. Or what I would become eventually.

I turned away from him and kissed her. “Thanks for coming out with me.”

“Of course. I’m your wife, remember? That’s what we wives do.”

I had to laugh. But gazing at her in the dying light, I felt my breath catch. I’d come so close to losing her.

Her brow creased. “Fearsson?”

“I’m glad you’re all right,” I said, my chest tightening. I lifted her good hand to my lips.