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.
I needed to do that again. I’d told Kona-Kona, who had been here only a minute or two before; or had it been longer?
I’d told her that I was safe. That tonight, of all nights, Red couldn’t hurt me. Why the hell would I have thought that? What an idiot I’d been!
Standing, I realized that I held something in my hand: a scrap of wood slick with magic, red like blood. I flung it away before it could hurt me and rubbed my fingers on my shirt, expecting them to start burning any second. The red was everywhere. I needed to protect myself from it. I didn’t know why, but I did. Wardings. That’s what I’d been thinking. Wardings. That was why I’d stood.
But that red magic was already inside. What was the use of warding if it was already here?
I watched the red as I sidled toward the back of the house, my back to the wall. When I couldn’t see the red anymore I threw myself down the hallway and into another room. My room. There was no red in here. I closed the door. Locked it.
My room, a shield, and that red magic.
No, those weren’t the right elements. Three was the right number. But the elements had to be right, too. My room, the shield, and. . what? Red himself. I spoke the spell, felt magic surge through me.
The walls shimmered with magic the color of the sea. I sunk to the floor and leaned back against the side of my bed, my eyes closed.
I heard a coyote howl in the distance. Opening my eyes again, I saw sprigs of cinquefoil and clover sprouting from the rug. The ground. I squinted up at the sun overhead, felt its heat on my face and neck and shoulders. A hot breeze touched my skin and I wiped sweat from my brow.
Honeybees grappled with the tiny blooms beside me and a butterfly floated past. Following it with my eyes, I saw it swoop over a patch of grass and then loop back toward a low, shaded path. I inhaled sharply, held my breath, the butterfly forgotten.
The path. It was red, and it wound away from me, cutting through the shimmering aqua light like a knife. Red. He was down that path. I could feel him, close, powerful. Evil, someone had called him. Who had said that?
I followed. I stayed where I was, too tired to move, too comfortable in the clover and grass. But I followed, my mind flying down that path. It led a long way from the grass, over rock and sand and more rock. The grass and flowers were gone, but still the red went on, and I followed, determined now, tired no longer, though still I was sitting, resting.
Like embers the red glowed, hot and angry and my feet ached, my face and neck and chest burned. Heat rose from the path like steam from a boiling pot, damp, rank with the smell of blood. But I followed. After a time a second color bled into the crimson. Green, pale as a forest mist. The colors twined, and I followed, until the green broke free and curled away. I knew that green. I’d seen it before. But I stayed with the red, knowing that was the important color. Time was running short, and I was growing desperate, conscious of the sun dropping like a stone toward the horizon. I tried to run, gasping for breath, my feet leaden.
The path began to climb, steeper and steeper, until I was scrabbling on all fours. An animal, chasing the scent of blood. Other colors joined the red and faded, sweeping in from left and right like swallows angling along a cliff face. Blues and yellows, oranges and golds, something akin to pure light itself, and this one I did know, but it was gone so fast I had no time to guess from where. More greens, more purples. Always they swung away again, these other colors. But the red remained, a gash running through all the rest-raw, livid, fevered. That was the constant, and that was the path I followed.
A bird squawked, shrill and insistent from beside the path. I ignored it, but it called again. Twice, three times. Until I had to stop and search for it.
The phone. The phone was ringing. I picked it up. No sound. At least not at first.
Had I said hello?
“Fearsson?”
I knew the voice, though it seemed to be coming from far away. I could see the red path still, but the sun was setting. I had no time.
“Fearsson? You there?”
“Billie,” I said, because that was the name.
“We must have a bad connection or something. Can you hear me okay?”
“Yes.”
“I just wanted to tell you again what a great a day I had. I’m so glad I got to meet your father.”
I didn’t take my eyes off the path. I was afraid even to blink, in case it vanished in the failing light.
“Fearsson?”
“I have to go.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Did Kona come by? Are the two of you still working?”
“No. Kona’s. . she left. The light’s almost gone, and I’m losing the path. I can’t. . I have to go.”
“I don’t. . You sound funny, Fearsson. Are you all right?”
I had to make her understand; it was important that I explain to her better. But the ribbon of crimson light had faded almost to nothing. And I couldn’t find the words.
“Fearsson? You still there?” She sounded frightened now. I could hear the fear in her voice. I was scared, too. The path.
“I can’t now,” I said, and hung up.
I started up the path again, loose rocks falling away behind me, my hands scraping on the stone and dirt. But I could still see the red and I thought I could see the top.
The phone rang again. The bird. Keening, its voice echoing off the cliffs. But I ignored it. After a time, it stopped.