Spell Blind Read Online Free Page B

those remnants touched the embers, they flared so brilliantly that I had to shield my eyes. By the time I looked at the mirror again, the image was gone. All that was left was the inverted reflection of my office.
    The runemyste was watching me.
    “What the hell was that, Namid?”
    “What did you see?”
    “You know perfectly well what I saw. You always know. What did it mean?”
    “What do you think it meant?”
    I shoved the mirror off my lap and stood too quickly; my vision swimming.
    “Damn you, Namid! Can’t you answer a simple question? Just once?”
    “This is as much a part of your training as the summoning of that image. Scrying is more than seeing. Scrying is understanding what you see.”
    I hated it when he was right.
    This was what made scrying so frustrating. The images came to me easily. Even Namid, who was a miser when it came to compliments, had once told me that the visions I summoned from my scrying stone were unusually vivid. Interpreting them, though, was another matter. Scryings were never clear or unambiguous. Rather they were shadows, portents, hints at the future. Frankly, they were a pain in the butt.
    “I don’t know,” I said, beginning to pace the room. “That hand bothered me.”
    “It should.”
    I halted, surprised by the response. This was as close to a hint as he was ever likely to offer.
    “Why, Namid? What does the hand mean?”
    Before he could answer, the phone rang. Neither of us moved, and it rang again.
    I kept my eyes on the runemyste, hoping he’d tell me more. The phone rang a third time.
    “Someone wishes to speak with you.”
    A fourth ring and the machine would pick up. I strode across the office and grabbed the phone.
    “Fearsson,” I said, facing the runemyste.
    “Justis.”
    I would have known that voice anywhere. Kona Shaw. But why would Namid care about a call from Kona? She called all the time.
    “What’s up, partner?”
    “If you have to ask,” she said, “you haven’t read the paper yet.”
    Namid stared at me, those cold, impenetrable eyes locked on mine. I felt my gut begin to tighten again.
    “Tell me.” But even as I said it, my gaze flicked toward the calendar, and I knew. We were two days past the first quarter moon; five days until the full.
    “We’ve found another body.”
    “Where?”
    “South Mountain Park.”
    “Same guy?”
    “Officially, I don’t know yet,” she said. “But yeah, it’s our guy.” I could hear the shudder in her voice. Kona was as tough as any cop I’d ever met. In all our years of working together I’d seen little that fazed her, including having a weremyste as a partner. But the Blind Angel murders would have made Jack the Ripper squeamish.
    “Listen, partner,” Kona said, “we’re going to need your help on this one. Just to make sure it’s him, you know?” Her voice was nearly drowned out by background noise—car engines, shouting, and at least one siren.
    “You still at the scene?” I asked.
    “No, I’m . . . I’m in Paradise Valley.”
    “What?”
    “Read the paper, Justis. Or go online. This’ll all make sense when you do.”
    “You’ve got to give me more than that.”
    No answer, though I could still hear the commotion behind her.
    “Kona?”
    “Yeah,” she said. “This victim isn’t like the others. It’s . . . it’s Claudia Deegan.”
    I would have done just about anything in the world for Kona, and I won’t deny that I still lay awake at night thinking about the Blind Angel murders, even though I hadn’t been on the job for a year and a half. But getting involved in an ongoing police investigation was dangerous enough for an ex-cop; getting involved in one that promised to be a media circus was more than I cared to deal with.
    I would have told Kona as much, but abruptly I wasn’t paying attention to our conversation. Namid had crossed the room to where I stood, and was staring at me. His color had changed. He had been translucent, his waters as clear as a quiet