“What happened. . to our. . our game?” I asked, when I could speak again.
“Stand up.”
My body tried to resist, but he had taken control of me again. I struggled back to my feet. Even as I did, though, it occurred to me that his attacks on my heart and his control of my will might not be that different. If I could shield my mind somehow, I might be able to keep him out. But first I had to win a moment’s freedom.
I tried to open my mouth to speak, but he wouldn’t allow it. At least not at first.
“You are trying to say something.”
He loosened his hold on me enough so that I could nod.
“Very well.” His touch on my mind lightened.
“You’re a coward,” I said.
He hit me so hard with the back of his hand that I staggered back and fell.
But that was fine with me. It seemed I’d touched a nerve. I made myself laugh, even as I tasted blood.
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it, Cahors?”
“Silence!”
“Well, no. As long as you’re letting me talk, I think I’ll go on. Our agreement was, if I failed, you were to punish me. I didn’t fail, did I? But as soon as things don’t go your way, you start changing the rules. Like I said, you’re a coward.”
He was seething. I could see it. He wanted to burn my heart right out of my chest. But I’d gotten to him a little bit. After a moment, he seemed to remember how weak I was and how great an advantage he had over me. He fixed a smile on his face.
“You are right. It was not. . juste. What is your word? Fair! It was not fair of me. You wish to make another attempt?” He opened his hands. “Go ahead.”
I didn’t have many chances left, and I didn’t know how much more of his punishment I could take. Mostly I wanted my Glock. If I could make him think about my magic and my weapon, I might have a chance.
And then it came to me. My father’s spell. Dual transporting. Shift myself back to the thicket and at the same time retrieve my pistol from where it had fallen. I’d yet to craft the spell with any success, but I knew what had to be done. It was simply a matter of visualizing it, of clearing myself and keeping my thoughts focused.
I began chanting the spell to myself. Seven elements this time; a more complicated spell. Me, the spot where I stood, the thicket, my weapon, my hand, the spot on the ground where it lay, and the simultaneity of the whole thing. That’s where I’d messed up in the past, so that was what I concentrated on now.
Cahors was watching me, waiting, no doubt warding himself. As I continued to stand there, seemingly doing nothing, he narrowed his eyes.
“Qu’est-ce tu fait?” he demanded, his voice low. “What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer. I’d chanted the spell to myself six times, allowing the power of the magic to build. On the seventh chanting, I released the conjuring. I felt that same rush of dizzying cold, as if I had fallen backward into ice water. An instant later, I was standing among the trees, my hand raised to fire. My empty hand.
My damn Glock was sitting in the middle of the path, in the exact spot where I’d been. Within the span of a single heartbeat, he’d spotted me, his eyes locking on mine. Then he looked down at the pistol.
This spell I knew. My weapon, the ground, my hand. Three elements. Simple. One moment my Glock was at his feet and he was bending to pick it up. The next I was holding it in my hand. Without hesitating, I squeezed off a shot.
And as soon as I did, I knew I’d made a mistake. Again. I dove to the side, but Red’s reflection spell was, well, faster than a speeding bullet. The slug from my own weapon caught my trailing arm just below the shoulder, spinning my body in middive and causing me to land hard on my back. I lay there for a moment, stunned, winded, gritting my teeth against the white-hot pain in my arm.
I could still hear the echo from my gunshot dying away, and part of me hoped it would bring help. Another part of me hoped anyone who heard it would be smart enough to stay the hell away.
For once, though, I was ahead of Cahors. I had my weapon back, which meant he had no choice but to try to control me again. I sheathed my mind with a warding spell, and half a second later felt his magic reach for me. My shield held, at least for the moment. I crawled behind a tree and fired off a second round. This one came back at me, too, but hit the tree trunk.
He tried for my mind again, and, unable to take control of me, went for my heart. I couldn’t protect both, and knew he’d kill me faster if he could burn a hole in my chest. My heart, his magic, a sheath of power. I was growing weaker and colder by the minute. Pain, physical shock, blood loss. But still, the spell worked. I heard him roar his frustration, and then felt his magic bury my mind like an avalanche.
“Come here!” he said. His voice reached me in a sort of weird stereo, once from the path, sounding normal, and a second time inside my head, where it rolled like thunder.
I jerked upright, and walked out of the thicket again, my pistol still in my hand, which hung uselessly at my side. More than anything I wanted to raise my weapon and put a bullet through that bald head of his, but Cahors kept a tight hold on me this time. I didn’t imagine I’d have any luck talking my way free.
When I reached Cahors, he held out his hand, and I gave him my weapon. You would have thought it had been his all along. I loathed myself: my weakness, my ignorance, my laziness. Namid had been training me for too long for me to allow anyone-even someone as powerful as Red-to use me in this way.
He regarded the pistol as if he had never seen one up close before, turning it first one way and then another. Then he pointed it at my thigh and fired. Not even his magic could stifle my cry of pain or keep me on my feet.
“A most useful weapon,” Cahors said, examining the Glock again while massaging his shooting hand and wrist. “And powerful.”
He pointed it at me once more, this time aiming it at my forehead.
I tried the sheathing spell again, desperate to throw off his control. My mind, the shield, his magic.
Cahors shook his head.
“You do not have the power, little weremyste. With time, perhaps, you might have been strong enough to face me. But you are far beyond your depth. Quel dommage.”
He grinned. I closed my eyes, knowing I was about to die.
“I think it’s time you dropped that weapon and got your sorry French ass away from my friend.”
Kona! My eyes flew open. Cahors spun and fired again.
But Kona was hidden behind a good-sized rock, and his aim was wild.
In that moment, though, Red’s control over me slipped. And everything started to happen very fast.
CHAPTER 23
I could have gone with another assailing spell, but I didn’t think it would work. And I had another idea.
My weapon, his hand, my hand. Three elements. It was so simple, and yet it turned out to be the last thing Cahors expected. I spoke the spell to myself and released the magic. An instant later the Glock was in my hand. I didn’t hesitate at all. Still on the ground, I held the muzzle against the back of Red’s knee and fired twice in quick succession.
Cahors’ howl was like nothing I’d ever heard before. Astonishment, agony, rage; he sounded like a wild animal, one that had never known pain before, and had never expected it would. He collapsed to the ground right in front of me. I had every intention of firing again, of finishing him.
But his magic lashed out at me. No attempt to control this time. No attack on my heart. This was assailing magic, pure and simple. I had no time to ward myself, and I’m not sure any spell I could’ve conjured would have made a difference. The spell hit me hard in the side, like a fist, or the kick of a mule. I heard a couple of ribs snap, and I crumpled in on myself, gasping, though that made it hurt more.