And still I fought, straining at the invisible bonds that held me, desperate to lift a hand, to grab hold of that knife again, to kill Patty and escape to my car. I felt a tickle of sweat on my temple and couldn’t even wipe it away.
We’re going to use him to kill his runemyste.
I had no idea how they planned to make me do this. The day before, I would have sworn that Patty was delusional, because I knew with the conviction of the ignorant that runemystes couldn’t be killed.
Thanks to Namid, I now knew better. And thanks to Patty, I understood in the vaguest sense how it might be possible. What had Namid said when I asked how his fellow runemyste died?
We do not know. We know only that one of her weremystes was killed as well. They died together, perhaps battling a necromancer and his or her servants.
What if they hadn’t been fighting side by side, but instead had battled each other? What if the weremyste had been controlled, just as I was now, and had been used as a weapon against the runemyste?
I wouldn’t know how to kill Namid. Surely I didn’t have the power to defeat him in magical combat. But he trusted me, as I trusted him. I could get close to him, enable someone who wielded as weapons my body and my runecrafting to strike a killing blow.
Is that what Patty and Witcombe had done to the runemyste in Virginia?
“You’re awfully quiet,” Patty said, without turning. Then she laughed. She swiveled in her chair to face me and narrowed her eyes. “Why do you have a runemyste? I’ve felt your magic now, and it doesn’t strike me as being terribly powerful. And yet, from what I’ve been told, a runemyste has taken interest in you. He’s training you. So he must see some potential that I’m missing. And you did kill Cahors, though I’d wager that was more dumb luck than anything else.”
The door swung open once more and Witcombe bustled out onto the patio. “They’re gone for now. The ones around the house, that is. There are still men at the guardhouse, but I assume that’s all right.”
Patty regarded me for a moment longer. “Yes, that should be fine. Jay and I will take his car. You’ll follow us.”
“Where are we going?”
“His house, I think.”
“And . . . and Heather?”
“I told you, we’ll work that out later. But I think that Jay’s status as city hero is about to end. A messy murder-suicide with a pretty young thing like Heather should do the trick.” She drained her Scotch and levered herself out of the chair. “Pick her up,” she said, her voice taking on that echoing quality once more.
I lifted Heather’s body into my arms and then slung her over my shoulder.
“Very good. We’re heading out to your car now. You’re going to follow Regina through the house, doing exactly as she says.” She stepped forward and reached a hand into my jeans pocket, her eyes finding mine once more, a mocking leer on her lips. She pulled out my car keys and held them up for me to see. “Go,” she said to Witcombe.
The word didn’t echo as her commands did in my head, but they had the same effect. Witcombe made her way through the house, and I followed. She glanced back at me every few seconds, acting like she was afraid to have me so close to her – or perhaps afraid of the corpse I carried. My eyes scanned the furniture as we walked. Even knowing that I was helpless, I searched for something I could use as a weapon or a distraction. Not that I could take advantage of either. I followed, as dutiful as a trained puppy.
Once we were outside, Patty had me halt and wait as she opened the back hatch of the Z-ster.
“Put her in here.”
I laid Heather’s body down in the back, taking care not to let the little bit of blood on her neck touch the upholstery. The significance of this wasn’t lost on me. Patty hadn’t told me how I should position the body, and so I could put her in there any way I wanted. As loopholes went it wasn’t much. But maybe I wasn’t completely helpless after all.
“Get in the car.” The command echoed as had the others. “And drive us back to your home, obeying all traffic rules, taking the most direct route possible, and doing nothing to draw undue attention to your car or to us.”
I climbed into the car on the driver’s side, sifting through her words for something-anything-that I could do, within the constraints of her instructions, to gain the upper hand. Nothing came to me. She had been specific enough to keep me on task, and general enough to leave no loopholes. I had the sense that she had done something like this several times before.
I drove back to Chandler with Regina Witcombe trailing me in her silver Mercedes. Thanks to Patty, I was the model driver, hitting the speed limits dead on, using my directionals for every lane change and every turn. Anyone who knew me well enough to have driven with me would have realized straight away that something was wrong; I wasn’t this good a driver. But to the strangers on Phoenix’s freeways, I was just another grunt in a car, following the rules and driving in the slow lane.
As we neared my house, my cell phone rang. I couldn’t reach for it, or even glance Patty’s way to gauge what she wanted me to do.
On the second ring, she reached over and took the phone from my jacket pocket.
“Kona Shaw,” she said.
My heart leaped.
“She was your partner when you were a cop, wasn’t she?” She dropped the phone into the tray behind the stick shift. “That’s a call you won’t be taking.”
Fine with me, I wanted to say. I always took Kona’s calls. She’d try again, and if I didn’t answer a second time, she’d come looking for me.
I felt Patty’s eyes on me, and I wondered if mastering my body in this way also allowed her to read my emotions. Or maybe she was simply too smart for my own good.
“Except that you probably take her calls all the time, don’t you? I’ve heard that partners on the force get very close. It’s practically like a marriage. If she calls again, you’ll have to answer.”
Call again, Kona.
The sun had gone down by the time I navigated the streets of Chandler to my house. It hadn’t gotten completely dark yet, but it wouldn’t be long. I parked in the driveway and sat, waiting for Patty’s next set of commands. Glancing at my rearview mirror, I saw Witcombe’s car glide to a stop by the curb in front of my house.
Patty took my keys from the ignition. “You’re going to get out, shut the car door, and walk to the door of your house acting like nothing is the matter. You’ll allow me to unlock your front door. If a neighbor calls to you, you’ll wave and smile before continuing to the house. Now get out.”
I opened my door, climbed out of the Z-ster, and closed the car door. Patty joined me, and we walked to the house. She unlocked the door, pushed it open, and waved me inside. “Go in and stop in the middle of the first room. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
I walked into the house and did as instructed. She was too good at this, too thorough. I needed help.
And as we waited for Witcombe to join us, I got it.
My cell rang again. Patty still held the phone, and she checked the incoming number, frowning. “It’s Shaw.”
“Who’s Shaw?” Witcombe asked as she entered the house.
“Fearsson’s partner on the police force. This is the second time she’s called.”
“Ignore it.”
Patty shook her head. “She’ll keep calling.” She held up the phone for me to see as it rang a second time, but didn’t hand it to me right away.
“You’re going to talk to her, but tell her nothing about us or what I’ve done to you. You’ll keep your tone casual, and you’ll say nothing about being in trouble or needing help.” A third ring. She handed me the phone. “Now answer, on speaker.”
I opened it, unable to refuse. But on the inside I was doing cartwheels. Patty’s commands had been rushed, because she didn’t want Kona to get no answer a second time. She’d left loopholes all over the place.