Patty, Witcombe, me, the spell they’d cast to control me, my mind, a shield, and the blood coursing from my wrist. Seven elements. I couldn’t risk repeating it seven times. I gathered the elements in my thoughts and released the magic at the same time they completed their chanting. The hum of this spell reminded me of the crackling static electricity of rustling blankets on a winter’s night. It slid along my skin, making the hair on my arms stand at attention.
“Now, Jay! Call for the myste!”
Patty shouted the words, and I heard them clearly, like the ringing of a church bell. But they were flat. There was no echo.
She must have heard this, too, because she whirled around, eyes wide. By then I’d drawn back my fist. My punch caught her square on the jaw, and she reeled, falling back into Witcombe. The second woman righted her, and I could tell that Patty was gearing up for a spell.
I cast first: a reflection spell. Her attack stirred the air an instant later, but it rebounded off of my warding. She went down in a heap, a welt appearing high on her temple.
Witcombe eyed me, rage and fear mingled on her face. Tires screeched out front.
“That’ll be Kona Shaw,” I said. “And she’ll be armed.”
“The police detective,” Witcombe said. “Good luck explaining Heather to her.”
Quick footsteps on the walkway, a fist pounding on the door. And then the door burst open. Kona had her weapon drawn, but she didn’t get a shot off.
Witcombe and Patty vanished with a pulse of magic. A transporting spell. Seconds later, the Mercedes growled to life and sped away. Kona spun, ran back outside, but again, she didn’t have time to fire off a shot.
I sank to the floor, overwhelmed by the pain in my hand, my wrist, my chest. The blood that had stained the carpet and glistened on my chest was gone, wiped away by the spell I’d cast, but fresh blood ran from the gash on my wrist and down the length of my fingers, dripping onto the carpet once more. I gripped my wrist with my good hand, my index finger pressing on the artery just above the cut, the other fingers digging into the wound itself. It hurt like hell, but at least it would slow the bleeding.
Kona came back inside. “Well, they’re- Justis!” She hurried to my side and knelt next to me. “Shit! We have to bind that wrist.”
“Gently,” I said, breathless and weary. “My hand is broken in about twenty places.”
“All right. Bandages?”
“Survival kit’s in the bathroom, bottom drawer on the left.”
“Bottom, left. Got it.”
“And, Kona . . .”
She had gotten to her feet again to retrieve the bandages, but she heard the urgency in my voice and stopped.
“There’s a dead girl in my car. She was murdered by one of the women who did this to me. They used her blood for a spell, like with the other killings. But that’s the knife that killed her.” I nodded toward the weapon, which lay on the floor a few feet from me. “And my prints are all over it.”
She regarded the knife, faced me again, and heaved a sigh. “Yeah, all right,” she said. “Nothing’s ever easy with you, is it?”
CHAPTER 18
Kona came back moments later with rolls of gauze and elastic wraps to hold the gauze in place. She knelt and reached for my bloodied wrist. At the first touch of her fingers against my hand, I recoiled, wincing and sucking air through my teeth.
“Oh, right. You have a broken bone?”
“I’d be surprised if there’s still an unbroken bone in that hand.”
“I’ll be careful.”
She was. She worked on me in silence, her motions deft, economical, gentle. One roll of gauze she kept wound, and set just over the upper part of the wound, securing it there with a wrapping of gauze from a second roll and then an elastic bandage.
Once she was convinced I wouldn’t bleed to death, she made a series of phone calls on her celclass="underline" nine-one-one for an ambulance, the Medical Examiner’s office for Heather, Kevin to help her work the evidence and my interview. I remained where I was, spent, light-headed from blood loss, in pain, and afraid that I would wind up spending the rest of my life in jail for a murder I didn’t commit. I no longer needed to apply pressure to my wrist, but both my hands were still covered with drying blood, as were my jeans and the carpet beneath me. I wanted a shower and then a nap of about two days. I didn’t think either was in my immediate future.
When she was finished on the phone, Kona walked to the back of my house again and brought a pile of towels, some dry, some damp, to where I sat.
“Are those my good ones?” I asked.
“I’ll buy you more. But we should clean you up a little bit.”
“I’ll take care of this. You check the girl.”
Her gaze met mine for the span of a heartbeat before sliding away. “Her being in your car isn’t good, Justis. I don’t have to tell you that.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“And you don’t have to tell me that. I’m just saying that from a evidentiary standpoint, this is going to be tough.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“Not yet. But yeah, you’ll probably need a lawyer.”
Kona went out to the car. I stared at the towels she’d left for me. At last, I picked up one of the damp ones and began to dab at the dried blood on my broken hand.
“Ohanko.”
Namid appeared before me, his waters roughened, so that he seemed to have scales.
“I almost got you killed,” I said.
“But you did not. You saved me, and at some cost to yourself.”
“You’ve done the same for me.”
“Is that why you protected me, because you felt beholden based upon past events?”
I couldn’t keep from laughing. “No, Namid. That’s not why.”
“Then why did you-?”
“Can we talk about this later? I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’m in some pain here, and I’ve lost a lot of blood.”
He got to his knees, much as Kona had done moments before, and yet nothing like that at all. Kona was as lithe and graceful as anyone I knew. But Namid’s movements were liquid and perfect. He didn’t kneel so much as he flowed to the floor. And then he did something he had never done before. He reached out his hands of formed water and took hold of my mangled hand.
I winced again, in anticipation of pain. There was none. His touch was gentle and cool, like the slow wash of a spring stream.
“I can heal this,” he said. “It is allowed.”
“But I thought-”
“It is allowed,” he said again, his bright gaze meeting mine.
“Because you say so?”
He smiled. “Yes, because I say so.”
“The fracture then. Kona’s called for an ambulance; they’ll be expecting to see the laceration. But if you could repair the bones, I’d be grateful.”
“Of course.”
That sense of dipping my hand in cool water intensified and tipped over into agony as the temperature dropped. I squeezed my eyes shut, my hand throbbing with each beat of my heart. The pain of his touch went on for a long time, the anguish radiating from the center of my hand out along my fingers. But even as it spread, it was followed by warmth that expanded in the same way, like concentric rings in a still lake. Soon, the pain began to subside.
“Is that better?” the runemyste asked, still grasping my hand.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
The door opened and Kona same back in. “Well, it’s pretty clear that she was dead when you put her in the car. There’s no blood in your hatch.”
She couldn’t see Namid-only those with runecrafting blood in their veins could-and she came close to kneeling right on top of him.
“You should show yourself,” I said to the myste. “It’s only fair.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
And at the same time, Namid said, “She knows of me?”
“Yes, she has for a long time.”
“Justis, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m talking to Namid.”
“He’s here?”
Before I could answer, his waters rippled, small waves spreading from the middle of his body. Kona let out a yelp and scrabbled back from him on all fours.