“Good,” the runemyste said, sounding surprised. “Defend yourself.”
A second later, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned just enough to see, then froze. Not two feet from where I sat, a snake lay in a tight coil, its head reared back to strike. I didn’t have time to mark what kind it was, or whether it was venomous. This was Namid I was dealing with. I assumed the worst.
This time at least, I had a pain-free second in which to think. Camouflage spell, but with a twist. Snakes hunted by smell, using their tongues to taste the air, and they waited for motion before striking. So I had to make myself invisible and scentless. Pit vipers could also sense temperature, but I didn’t know how to lower my body temperature to match the air in the house.
Camouflage wardings were the most complicated spells I knew, almost as difficult as some of the simpler transformation spells. I visualized myself blending with my surroundings, so that to the snake I would appear in every way to be nothing more or less than empty space. I slowed my breathing, and recited the spell to myself.
The snake. My body. My scent. The air around me. The wall behind me. The picture hanging on that wall. Back to the snake again. After a few moments, the snake’s posture changed. Its tongue flicked out three times, as if it were trying to find me again. I eased my Glock free.
Before I could shoot it, the snake vanished.
“Good, Ohanko. Very good.”
I closed my eyes.
“Clear yourself.”
“Let me rest a minute.”
I thought he would argue, but he nodded and sat there.
“Are there other warding spells you can teach me?” I asked.
“You must master the ones you know.”
“I understand that. I’m asking if there are more.”
“Of course. There are always more.”
I laughed. “Always? You never run out?”
“Never,” he said, without a trace of humor. “If you cannot remember one, you must create one yourself.”
“Wait. You mean I can make up my own spells?”
“You are a runecrafter. How do you think the spells you know came into being?”
I shrugged. “I guess I thought that you made them up, or brought them from the Runeclave, or something like that.”
“Magic is a craft, and though it might not seem so, it is a living craft.” Something resembling a grin crept over the spirit’s face. “Your father created a spell.”
“My father?”
He nodded.
“Teach it to me.”
“I do not know that you are ready for it.”
That stung. “He was that much better than me?”
“He was older when he created this spell. And at that time, yes, he was a far more accomplished crafter than you are now.”
“Teach it to me anyway.”
It was a complicated spell. Impressive, but complicated. My father had found a way to combine two different kinds of transporting spells, one which allowed him to move himself a short distance, and another which in effect transported an object-in this case his weapon-to his hand. The trick, of course, was to carry off the two spells simultaneously, so that he could go from being unarmed and vulnerable to being armed and protected in the blink of an eye.
Try as I might, I couldn’t do it. It was good practice. After several tries, I’d nearly mastered a basic transporting spell. But my pistol always wound up lying on the floor in the spot where I’d been. I gave up on that one for the time being, vowing to practice it on my own later. Namid had other spells to teach me, and for once I was eager to learn. Maybe it was the stark memory of feeling so vulnerable on the street earlier in the day. Maybe it was hearing that my father had been better at this than I was. Whatever the reason, on this night I worked my craft as I never had before.
I was in the middle of trying a new assailing spell when I heard a knock at the door. Namid’s glowing gaze locked on mine.
“Are you expecting someone?” the runemyste asked.
“No.” I glanced at my watch. Almost nine-thirty. We’d been working for close to three hours. Whoever it was knocked again. I stood and started toward the door.
“Careful, Ohanko.”
I glanced at him and nodded. Then I crossed to the door, unlocked it, and prepared to pull it open, all the while reciting a shielding spell in my head.
But when I pulled the door open, I found myself face to face with Billie Castle. Looking past her, I saw that the street and sidewalk were wet. It had rained while I was working with Namid. Seems my dad was right about that wind after all. The sky had cleared and the gibbous moon shone through the Acacia tree growing in my front yard. Even from the doorway, I could feel the moon’s pull, more insistent than last night, hinting at the power to come. Friday night. That’s when the phasing would begin.
Billie opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped herself, seeming to take in my appearance. Only now did I realize that I had sweated through my shirt and that my face was damp. Working spells for hours on end was hard work.
“Good God, Fearsson, what have you been doing?”
“Um. . Working out.”
“Are you going to invite me in?”
“Sure.” I opened the screen door and she stepped past me into the house. I glanced at the moon one last time, then closed the door. Billie turned a full circle, surveying the living room, and stared right through Namid, who couldn’t be seen by those not descended from the Runeclave.
“Nice place.”
“Thank you. You want anything? Water? Coffee? Beer? Wine?”
“No, thanks.” She faced me. “You certainly took off in a hurry this afternoon.”
I shrugged, scrutinizing my coffee table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“Boy, I expected you to be tougher than that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” she said, and now it was her turn to avoid my gaze. “I had the feeling that maybe you were, I don’t know, interested in me. You certainly were flirting and, well, you started to ask me out to dinner, and. .” She shrugged, her eyes meeting mine again. “And then Joel shows up, and you run away like a frightened little boy.”
“Joel?”
She began to walk a slow circle around the room. “Joel Benfield. He’s one of my contributing writers. He teaches history at the university and writes about environmental issues and Western politics.”
“I’m sure he’s very nice. And I wasn’t frightened, I was just-”
“You assumed that he and I were already involved.”
“Well, aren’t you?”
She stopped right in front of me. I hadn’t noticed before that she smelled faintly of lavender, or that her eyes were actually two shades of green-forest green nearer the center, brightening to emerald around the edges.
“Boy, Fearsson,” she said. “I sure hope you’re better at detective work than you are at figuring me out.”
I grinned. “Fearsson. Is that what you’ve decided to call me?”
“I’m thinking about it. You mind?”
“No,” I said with a small shake of my head. “I like it.”
“So are you going to take me out to dinner tomorrow night?”
I laughed. “I don’t know. Are we still off the record?”
“Until we say otherwise.”
“Then I guess I am.”
“Good. Come by my house at six.”
“Where’s your house?”
“In Tempe,” she said. “Near Cyprus Park.” She crossed to my telephone table, found a pad and pen, and wrote down her address. “Here,” she said handing me the paper. “Do I need to pin this to your shirt?”
“No, I think I’ll manage to hold onto to it for twenty-four hours.”
“Good.” She crossed to the door and pulled it open.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “I found your house, for God’s sake. Do I have to figure out everything?”
“Fine. Six o’clock.”
“Don’t be late,” she said, stepping outside.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
I watched her walk back to her car, waved once as she started up and pulled away from the curb, and closed the door. Turning, I saw that Namid was watching me.