“But that changed this week,” I said, prompting him.
“Yeah. Last week, actually. He calls me and says he’s sorry, that he’s been really busy helping out other weres. But he’s ready for me now, and I’m to meet him somewhere in Paradise Valley.”
“Sweetwater Park?”
He nodded. “I met him there, and we just talked. He told me about the spell and what was involved. He told me then that we’d . . . well, that we’d have to kill a guy to do it. At first I was, like, ‘Whoa! No way, dude!’ But he promised me the guy wouldn’t feel anything, that he’d spell him first. And he said it would be nobody, right? A homeless guy who didn’t have a family or friends or anything to live for.” He twisted his mouth and blinked a couple of times, trying not to cry. “I suppose that sounds really lame. Truth is, I wanted to do the spell. I don’t like being a were, at least not most of the time. I was happy to go along with it.”
“So what happened after the spell?”
“After?” he repeated, sounding surprised that I didn’t want him to describe the murder itself. I didn’t bother telling him that I’d seen it in my scrying stone. “Palmer turned me, and then turned me back.” He grimaced. “Then he did it again, and a third time.” One of his hands strayed to his chest and rubbed at his heart, perhaps remembering the way it felt when that arc of golden magic hammered into him. “You’re both weremystes; I can see the magic on you. So you wouldn’t know what it feels like being a were. It hurts like hell. And having someone force a shift on you a few times-that’ll mess you up pretty good.
“He turned me, and after the third time he told me that I’d be hearing from him. He’d have things for me to do, he said. Stuff to repay the favor he’d done for me.”
“I’m guessing that at this point it doesn’t feel like much of a favor.”
He shook his head.
“I’ll be honest with you, Bear, I don’t give a crap about you. You’re not exactly a victim in all of this, but you’re sure as hell not the brains of the operation either. I want Hain. If you help me get him, I’ll put in a word for you with my friends at the PPD.”
“I don’t know, dude,” he said. “I don’t know you at all. And Palmer’s no one to screw around with.”
“Neither am I,” Rolon said.
It was a nice try, but Martell hardly spared him a glance. As menacing as Rolon might have sounded, I knew that Bear was talking about a different level of threat. Amaya’s man might kick the crap out of him, but Hain was an accomplished dark sorcerer. I’d take an ass-whipping over blood magic any day.
Unfortunately, Bear didn’t get a chance to choose for himself.
“I could not hear what you were saying,” came a voice from behind me. Saorla.
I whirled.
“And so I thought I would join your conversation, perhaps lend a bit of wisdom.”
She appeared in the same form she had taken in my dream the previous night. She still wore the green dress, though without the shawl, and her hair was down. But eyeing her more closely, I realized that this form wasn’t entirely the same. Her appearance was similar to what it had been, but there were subtle differences. The gray streaks had vanished from her hair. The skin around her eyes and mouth was smoother. She looked younger; her dress fit her more closely, accentuating her figure. She was here to charm, perhaps even to seduce.
“We didn’t want you listening,” I said. “That’s why I cast the muffling spell. You really should learn to take a hint.”
“And you should learn to show some respect.”
“Where’d she come from?” Bear asked, trying to keep up with events. “Who are you?”
She sauntered past me into the middle of the room. Rolon caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. At the same time, he made a small gesture with the hand holding his pistol. I shook my head.
Saorla paused in front of Bear. Even sitting, he appeared huge compared to her; to the untrained eye it might have seemed that he could crush her with one hand. And yet, he seemed to dwindle beside her, becoming little more than an overgrown boy.
“You are a were,” she said. “A bear, I believe. Is that right?”
“Yeah, how did you-?”
She held a slender finger to her lips. “Do not speak more than is necessary. Among the minds in this room, yours is the least worthy. You have nothing to say that I wish to hear.”
He blinked, frowned. But he held his tongue.
She focused her attention to Rolon. “You should put away your firearm. It will not help you fight me. More likely than not, you will hurt yourself or one of these others.”
He glanced my way again. I nodded, and he slipped the weapon back into his shoulder holster.
Facing me, Saorla smiled in a way that promised either death or a night to remember. At that moment I couldn’t decide which. “I did not think we would meet again so soon, although I did hope.”
“You’re turning weres into slaves,” I said.
“I am?” she said, her lovely face a study in innocence. “I have done no such thing.”
“My pardon. The weremancers who work for you are turning them.”
“Weremancers.” Her smile thinned. “That sounds like a term Namid’skemu would use. I suppose to him I am a necromancer.”
“Yes, you are.”
“He can call me such if he wishes; I cannot stop him. Yet. If the name crosses your lips, you will die in agony.”
“What would you prefer I call you?”
“I am a runemyste, just as he is.”
I shook my head. “No, you’re not. The runemystes were chosen by the Runeclave. You made yourself immortal using magic you should never have attempted.”
“Brave words, Justis Fearsson. But you should know better than to challenge me when Namid’skemu is not here to protect you.”
“What are you doing with the weres?”
“You said we are making slaves. We are not. We are making soldiers.”
That brought me up short. And it made all kinds of sense.
“Soldiers?” Bear said.
Saorla ignored him, still watching me. “Think about it. With weres, weremystes, and runemystes like myself, we have an imposing army. It is like a chess set. Those of us with power can accomplish much, but we need our pawns. And the weres will serve quite well in that capacity.”
Her pale eyes flicked in Martell’s direction for no more than an instant. But in that scintilla of time, magic filled the room; the air practically shimmered with it.
Bear let out a roar and tipped out of his chair onto his hands and knees. I cursed, having seen this the day before in Gary Hacker’s single-wide. Bear screamed again.
“Jay, what’s going on?” Rolon’s voice had gone up half an octave, and for the first time since we’d met, he appeared truly frightened. He had pulled out his weapon again, and had it aimed at Bear.
“No! Not the pistol. The trank.”
Bones snapped, Bear’s body contorted, and another ear-splitting howl of pain made the walls shake.
Rolon seemed finally to grasp what was happening. He holstered the SIG Sauer and pulled out the tranquilizer gun.
“No,” Saorla said. She didn’t raise her voice, but I heard her anyway.
Rolon cried out. The trank fell from his hand, its grip glowing red. As I watched, the barrel flattened, as if some giant beast had stomped on it.
“If you want to stop the were from turning,” Saorla said, “you will have to kill it.” She shrugged. “As I said, he is a soldier.”
Martell bellowed once more. His hair was becoming fur; already he had grown larger. His T-shirt hung in tatters from his body.
“Why would you waste one of your army?”
“It is not a waste. As it is, you are wanted for murder. And here you stand with a servant of the criminal Amaya. If you kill the bear, he will shift back into the man, and the police will pursue you with that much more rigor.”
Crap. It was time to leave.
I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.