It shouldn’t have been this easy for him. I should have at least put up a fight before dying. But the words for a spell wouldn’t come. My pistol couldn’t have been more than a foot or two away from my hand, but it might as well have been on Mars.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, his assault stopped. I was aware once more of lying on the ground, dried palo verde leaves in my hair, sand and twigs pressed into the skin of my arms and face. I took a long breath, savoring the absence of pain, bracing myself for its return.
“Come here.”
He spoke the words this time, and I felt their power. He was on the path, near where I’d been standing when I called for him. I lifted my head and saw him there. I meant to reach for my weapon. I meant to throw some sort of assailing spell at him. But before I knew what I was doing, I’d gotten to my feet and started toward him. He was controlling me again, his magic pressing down on me. What had Namid said? I would reach into his mind and crush his will. That’s what Cahors was doing to me, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
I walked out from beneath the trees and into the bright sunlight. I couldn’t even lift a hand to shield my eyes.
Cahors was grinning at me, no doubt reading my thoughts, relishing my helplessness.
“Stop there.”
I halted a few feet from where he stood, my body swaying like a sapling in the wind. A fine sheen of sweat shone on his head and face, but otherwise he appeared unaffected by his hike. He wore black pants and shoes, and a long-sleeve, white, collarless shirt buttoned to the neck. He had to be burning up, but he looked perfectly comfortable. His skin was ghostly pale, a match for his eyes.
He remained still, except for his eyes, which appraised me in a single sweep from head to toe. A faint smile curved his thin lips; he didn’t seem too impressed by what he saw. An instant later, the magic was lifted from my mind.
“Well?” he said, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. “Here I am, little weremyste. Do your worst.” He laughed.
“Why did you kill them?” I asked.
He dropped his arms to his sides, the smile leaving his face gradually. “Are we not going to fight, you and I?”
“We will,” I said. “But first I want answers. Why have you been killing those kids”
“Surely, Namid has explained this to you.”
“I’m not sure he understands.”
That brought back the smile, as I knew it would. I was stalling for time, trying to think of how to kill this bastard. But I also wanted to know what he’d been doing. I’d been after the guy for three years; I wanted the truth before I died.
“All right then,” Cahors said. “I will answer this for you. And then you will answer a question for me.”
I was reminded of the drive out to the desert with Billie, but no sooner had the memory come, than I thrust it out of my mind.
“Sure, fine,” I said.
“I took power from them. Power to make myself free, power to give myself a body again, power to keep myself young.”
The first two I understood-he wanted to be free of the constraints put on runemystes, and he wanted to take corporeal form. But the last one. .
“Power to keep yourself young?”
“Yes,” he said, sounding too pleased with himself. “When the Runeclave made us runemystes, they took our bodies from us, made us creatures of pure magic. In reclaiming my body, I reclaimed as well my mortality. I would have aged quickly-far more so than would be normal. My body is not from this time. But the magic I take from them-those children-it keeps me young. I will never age. I will never grow weak. I will never die.”
“You’re immortal,” I whispered, my mind reeling.
He merely smiled.
In the next instant, though, I realized that this wasn’t what he’d said. The murders were keeping him young. He wasn’t immortal, so much as he was dipping into a magical fountain of youth. As long as he kept killing, time couldn’t touch him. Which meant that, as long as he lived, the Blind Angel murders would never end.
“And now it is my turn,” he said. “Which of them is more dear to you?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, cold creeping down my neck like a single bead of sweat.
“The two women, the dark-skinned one, and the other, with the long hair. Which of them do you love more? For which of them would you give your life?”
Kona and Billie. He was asking me to choose between them.
“I’d die for both of them. And I’ll kill for both, too, you son of a bitch.”
His expression hardened, though the hint of a smile still played around the corners of his mouth. “Ah. Nous combattrons maintenant, oui? We fight now?”
I said nothing, but instead cast the first spell that came to mind. A fire spelclass="underline" Cahors, the ground all around him, and flames. Three elements. But even as I cast, I realized that it was a poor choice. Too simple; too obvious. The fire never materialized. Cahors laughed at me.
“You can do better than that, little weremyste.”
Before I could say or do anything, I was lifted off my feet and slammed down on my back onto the rocky path. All the air rushed from my lungs, and for several seconds I was too stunned and in too much pain to move.
“I think we will play a little game, you and I,” Red said, walking a slow circle around me. “You will try magic on me and then, when your spell has failed, I will punish you. Each time, your punishment will get a bit worse. This sounds like fun, yes?”
I wasted no time trying again. A binding spell this time. It was supposed to immobilize him, as if I had bound him with rope. It didn’t.
Red shook his head. “Not very good, I am afraid.”
A rock about the size of my fist rose from the ground a few feet from me, rushed at me and slammed into my temple. It hurt like hell, and for several seconds it seemed like tiny white lights were popping inside my eyes. I raised a hand to where the rock had hit me. My fingers came away wet with blood.
I didn’t know much assailing magic-I was still learning it from Namid. I tried a blade spell, because it was about all I had left. A knife, my hand, Red’s throat. This one failed, too. I braced myself, wondering what he’d do to me this time, still smarting from my last two “punishments.” I was already pretty tired of Cahors’s game.
But I wasn’t ready for this. The skin on my forearm blackened, then blistered, then appeared to melt. I couldn’t keep myself from howling as I cradled the arm to my stomach, trembling, my eyes squeezed shut.
“Perhaps you are ready to end our game, little weremyste?” he said, standing just behind me. “Are you ready to die now?”
“Not yet,” I said, breathing hard. “Not until I’ve kicked your ass.”
He laughed. “C’est bon! I can see why Namid likes you!”
Namid. Hearing his name gave me an idea. I cleared myself again, and visualized a swarm of watery hornets, their tiny clear stingers, and Red’s exposed neck and head.
As I’d hoped, Cahors didn’t know this one. He started flailing his arms and ducking his head, all the time backing away. I forced myself to my feet and ran back toward the thicket to retrieve my weapon.
I was halfway there when he called, “Stop!”
His magic fell on me like a hammer, staggering me, halting me in my tracks. He made me turn to face him.
“You should not have done that, little weremyste.”
There were welts on his head and face, and even a couple on his hands. His pale eyes blazed and his nostrils were flared. I knew that he wouldn’t bother with rocks and burns this time. He’d go straight for my heart.
I tried to ward myself the way Namid had told me, but Red had me under his control again. There was nothing I could do to stop it. My chest was aflame once more; even Cahors’ magic couldn’t keep me upright. The torment seemed to go on forever, until I became convinced that he intended to finish me without another word.
Even as I felt myself starting to panic, though, it ended. I gulped at the air, curled up in a ball, the desert sun feeling like a cool balm after Red’s assault.