Hibbard and my dad had been close. In fact, for a while Hibbard and his wife had been my parents’ closest friends. I still remembered them coming over to the house and staying up late playing Spades, smoking cigarettes, and drinking daiquiris. I was supposed to be sleeping, of course, but I’d spy on them from the stairway, mostly because I thought Hibbard’s wife, whose name I’ve forgotten, was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen.
Eventually the phasings started taking their toll on my father, and though Hibbard was his friend, I gather that Dad wasn’t able to confide in him about the magic and Namid and all the rest. Or maybe that’s an excuse that both he and I have used too often. I did confide in Kona, and in the end it changed nothing.
After a while, Hibbard turned on him. I suppose he had cause. My mother turned on him, too, in her own way. Hell, so did I. To Hibbard, it must have seemed that his friend had lost it, had burned out right before his eyes. When my mother and her lover died, Hibbard was one of those who believed my father had killed them both. And when my father went all the way over the edge, leaving me without a family or a home, Hibbard and his wife were among the few couples who refused to help me out. I guess that’s understandable, too. The Hibbards had lost their two closest friends in a tragic, ugly sequence of events. The last thing they would have wanted was a living reminder of both Dara and Leander Fearsson haunting their home.
But try telling that to a fifteen-year-old kid who’d lost his parents. That’s when I started hating Cole Hibbard. One of the reasons I so wanted to be a cop, and not just a cop, but a homicide detective, was to show Hibbard and all the others who had turned their backs on my father and me that we deserved better. I had a lot to prove, and I’m sure that I came into the force with an attitude to match. It’s not surprising that Hibbard had it in for me from the start; I had it in for him, too.
In the end, the only thing he had done to me that I couldn’t forgive was to refuse to accept that maybe I could be a decent cop and wouldn’t necessarily become my father.
Of course, I understood all this in my calmer moments, when I could reflect on all that happened back then. At other times, though, I couldn’t get past the fact that Hibbard was such a jerk.
By the time I reached my office, I’d worked myself into quite a state. I’d watched a woman die, nearly been killed myself, and had been shown, in no uncertain terms, that whatever magic I wielded was nothing next to the power of the Blind Angel Killer.
The Republic was still running stories about Claudia’s death above the fold. It had a picture of Gann on the front page, too, beneath a caption that read, “Is This the Blind Angel Murderer?” I wondered if Torres and Marra believed what I’d told them about Shari’s killer being the one who’d killed Claudia Deegan. Maybe that was the one good thing that would come out of this day.
I dropped the paper in the trash and rubbed my eyes. After a moment I stood again and started to pace.
Where was Namid when I needed him? I was eager to train, to work some magic and get the day out of my system. The runemyste would have told me that this wasn’t a proper use of magic, that the purpose of clearing prior to conjuring was to keep emotions and frustrations from intruding on the spells. Whatever. I wanted to break something. Failing that, I wanted to use my magic against someone, even if it was Namid and I couldn’t hope to do any real damage. In fact, better that it be him, for that reason.
“Namid!” I called.
After a few moments, he materialized, as smooth and clear as a mountain lake in early morning.
“I am not your servant, Ohanko. I am not to be summoned like one.”
“I know that,” I said. “But I need to train, and I. . I thought maybe we could work on some more wardings.” I winced at what I heard in my voice. I sounded like some willful spoiled kid ordering around a playmate. “If you’d be willing to help me, I mean,” I added, knowing it was too little too late.
He considered me, his face placid. Then he shook his head. “No. You are clouded.”
“I can clear myself.”
“No,” he said again. “I do not think so. Not now. I sense much anger in you. Restlessness. This is not a good time for you to conjure.”
It only helped a little that I’d known he would say something like this. “Yeah, all right,” I said. “I’m sorry I called for you.”
He inclined his head and began to vanish.
“Tell me about my father,” I said, on impulse.
Namid grew more substantial again. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything.”
“You know much about him already.”
“Maybe. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know him at all.”
“You are much like him. The good and the bad.”
“Will I end up like him?”
“That has yet to be scried.”
“But I’m headed in that direction. Isn’t that right?”
The runemyste seemed to weigh this. Then he sat down on the floor right where he’d been standing. I sat as well.
“Magic exacts a price. You know this. And still you have chosen to conjure rather than block your power with Abri.”
“Right. Like Dad did. And now he’s nuts.”
“He made his choice. He lives with the consequences of that.”
“You make it sound so. . simple,” I said, anger creeping into my voice. “This is my sanity we’re talking about, Namid. It’s my life. I don’t want to wind up like my dad.”
The runemyste gazed back at me, still glasslike. “Then take the Abri. Block your magic, and you will be free of the moon’s pull. You will not have to worry about going. . nuts.” The word sounded strange coming from him.
“You know I can’t do that.”
He widened his eyes. “You cannot? Why is this?”
I started to answer, then stopped myself and chuckled. “All right,” I said. “I get it. I’ve made my choice. That’s what you’re telling me. So I should stop complaining, right?”
“You have made your choice for today, Ohanko. As you did yesterday. You can change your mind whenever you wish. The Abri will always be there, waiting for you.”
“I’m not sure I could give up being a sorcerer.”
“That is your decision to make.”
“I almost died today,” I told him. “I was face to face with this weremyste we’re after. He killed a woman with some kind of spell, and then used his magic to make me put my weapon in my mouth. He would have made me pull the trigger.”
The runemyste’s appearance clouded, his waters becoming turbulent. “He made you do this,” he repeated. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “Just what I said. He made me. He didn’t say anything that I could hear, but suddenly I had no control over my body. I wanted to run. I wanted to shoot him. But I couldn’t do anything at all. None of my wardings worked against him.”
Namid was scowling. “He controlled you.”
“Yes.”
“How is it you are still alive?”
I grinned. “I defended myself, like you told me to. I couldn’t attack him, so I cracked the sidewalk beneath his feet. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, but it broke his hold on me.”
The runemyste nodded. “That is good. You will be a runecrafter yet.” He eyed me again. “What else can you tell me about this man?”
“He can change his appearance. He’s bald and clean-shaven, and then he has long hair and a beard. His eyes are pale though. Almost white. And I have a feeling that they don’t change at all.” I thought for a moment. “He speaks with an accent. I’m not sure what kind. European, I think. Maybe French? And I heard the woman call him Cower.”
“Cower,” Namid said, with an intensity I’d never heard from him before. “Could it have been Cahors? A French name?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Do you know him?”
“There is much I need to learn,” he said. “I must go.” He began to fade.
“Namid, wait!”
He solidified once more, though I sensed his reluctance. “Do you still think I can protect myself from this guy?”