Shades (8 page)

“Yeah,” Danny whispered, “I did.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Danny!”

“Well, what was I supposed to do, man? He tried to
rape
her. I wasn’t going to lie for him.”

“Why not?” Jeremy hollered. “He’s one of us, man. You chose Val over Matt?”

Chuck ran his hand through his hair. “This is fucked up.”

“Don’t give me that,” Danny said. “You guys would have done the same thing. Ronnie? You like Val. You would have told on Matt, too. In a heartbeat. Tell them.”

Ronnie didn’t respond. He stared at the ground. Chuck looked away. Jeremy spat at his feet and glared at Danny.

“You know what,” Danny said. “Fuck you guys.”

“Fuck you, too,” Jeremy shouted.

Danny pushed past Ronnie and Chuck, turning his back on them and walking away. He tensed, waiting for Jeremy to swing, waiting for all three of them to jump him. They didn’t. Somehow, that made it worse.

Danny wanted to turn around, but he resisted the urge. Instead he kept walking. He felt them staring at him, felt the silent incrimination. They thought he’d changed. He didn’t hang out anymore. He’d told on Matt. In their eyes, he was somebody else. But he hadn’t changed. He still felt like the same person. Only now, he was the same person without any friends.

Except for Gustav.

He just wished the old man had told him about magic’s price before he paid it.

EIGHT

Gustav
stood on the sidewalk, watching the house as the sun went down. The shadows lengthened. The insects sang. Pedestrians and cars rushed past him, hurrying home for the evening. Nobody noticed him, because Gustav did not wish to be noticed. He simply observed—an unmoving, unblinking sentinel, probing with his mind and senses. He didn’t approach, didn’t cross the sidewalk and step into the yard. He couldn’t. Bedrik had taken care to safeguard his home. There were wards and sigils and circles of protection, all invisible to the untrained eye.

In a way, Gustav begrudgingly admired Bedrik. The other magician’s power was strong, and his influence over the town grew with each passing night. He’d been clever from the beginning, masking his abilities from Gustav, working his magic in secret. Gustav hadn’t been aware of Michael Bedrik’s true nature until the discovery of Martin Bedrik’s body along the Hudson. He’d read the body, read the signs. He knew what was afoot. The casting off of one’s own shadow to gain control of other shades; very serious magic, very bad. And while Bedrik grew more powerful, Gustav’s strength remained the same. He couldn’t challenge his opponent. Not yet. To confront him here where he was strongest would be suicide. Nor could he call upon others from the Kwan. They would not help. Brackard’s Point was his ward. He was responsible for it, win or lose. Besides, the others were busy with their own trials and triumphs. This was his cross to bear.

He only hoped that Danny would be ready in time.

Gustav counted on his power.

Gustav gazed up at the sky. Dark clouds promised rain. The shadows deepened. He shivered in the cool spring breeze. For the first time in a long time, he thought of home—and of the Nerpa.

“Enough.”

Snorting, he spat a wad of phlegm across the sidewalk, towards Bedrik’s lawn. Energy crackled, easily mistakable for a humming power line to those unattuned. But Gustav was in tune.

No, he could not confront Bedrik. Not directly.

But he could say hello.

789

Bedrik hung up the phone. Through his control of the police department and the District Judge, he’d been able to get Matt/Timothy Wells released on his own recognizance. Bedrik had considered just having his puppets kill the boy en route to the police station; say he’d resisted arrest, grabbed one of their guns. But despite today’s fiasco, Wells might still prove useful. Bedrik was beginning to suspect he was right about Danny being Gustav’s apprentice. It may have been the boy who’d discovered Martin’s body. If so, then he had to assume that Gustav was aware. And that meant he’d have to deal with them both much sooner than he’d planned. He’d always intended to go after Gustav after his control of the town was total. No matter how strong the old magus was, he couldn’t defeat an entire army of shade-possessed townspeople. But now, Bedrik might have to deal with the man himself.

Before he could consider it further, he felt a twinge at the back of his consciousness. The circle had been breached again. Could it be Matt/Wells, come to grovel for forgiveness? As he moved to the window, he heard a dog barking. Bedrik looked outside. He couldn’t see anything, but he felt it. A presence. The sidewalk and yard were empty. He continued staring, forcing his eyes to focus on nothing and everything at the same time. There, near the tree; a shifting in the air, a shimmering spot where the world didn’t quite look right, even though nothing appeared wrong or out of place.

Across the street, Kyle Wilkes was walking his terrier. The dog suddenly crouched, tugging at its leash, and growled. It, too, was staring at the spot beneath the tree.

Bedrik watched the spot from the corner of his eye, refusing to focus on it. Slowly, the shape coalesced into human form. Old. Bent. Haggard.

Gustav.

The old Russian waved at Kyle, who angrily urged his dog on down the street. Slowly, Gustav turned back to the house and met Bedrik’s gaze. Then he smiled.

Bedrik cursed. His hands gripped the curtains. His legs shook.

“That bastard…”

Every blade of grass in Michael Bedrik’s front lawn had turned brown. The maple tree was wilting, the leaves falling from the sagging limbs.

Come out,
Gustav’s voice rang in his mind.

What do you want, old man?

I am neighborhood welcome wagon. I know you, Michael Bedrik.

Bedrik grinned.
And I know you, Gustav, whose secret name is Partha.

Gustav was visibly startled. Bedrik’s smile grew wider. The Russian hadn’t expected him to know his magical name.

Come outside,
Gustav thought.
Say hello, yes?

You’re a fool,
Bedrik replied.
Do you really think I’d breach the circle? If you wish to draw me out and challenge me, you’ll have to do better than this transparent ploy. Really, I’m surprised—and disappointed. After all I’ve heard about you. I’d expect better than this.

Gustav didn’t respond. The old man suddenly seemed distracted. Bedrik frowned, glancing again at his ruined yard.

When he looked up again, Gustav was gone.

“Damn,” Bedrik swore. “I’ll need to move faster.”

789

His mother wasn’t home. Danny wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t expected her to be. A quick check of the cupboard confirmed that they were out of booze. She was probably down at Giordano’s liquor store, restocking. That was the only time she left the house, other than for work.

Danny fixed himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but threw it away after two bites. He had no appetite. He turned on the television and watched a few minutes of
Sanford and Son
before turning it off again. He wasn’t in the mood to laugh. Danny felt like dying; he wanted to crawl into bed, curl up into a ball, and just float away. He wished for his mother, wished she was there to give him a hug and tell him it would be okay.

But the only thing his mother hugged was the vodka bottles.

He bet the Giordano kids were getting hugged by their mother tonight.

Sometimes, he wished he could wipe Giordano’s Happy Bottle Shop off the planet. Toss a Molotov cocktail through their window, like on
The A-Team,
and just burn the place down. But could he stop there? Sometimes, when he slept, Danny had dreams in which the entire world was on fire. The dreams ended differently, depending on when he woke up, but they always started the same—at Giordano’s.

When she was sober, Danny’s mom was quiet and depressed. When she’d been drinking, she was loud and angry—or stupefied. Regardless of her state of mind, she was never the mother he’d had when his dad was alive. His memories of a happy mom were rapidly fading, just like the memories of his father. Sometimes, he had to look at his father’s picture to remember the contours of his face or the smell of his aftershave.

He looked at his mother’s picture to remember her smile.

The tears surprised him, sudden in their ferocity. His body trembled. His breath caught in his throat. His chest hurt. Danny sat on the couch in his quiet, empty home and cried harder than he ever had before. He cried for his parents, and for his friends, and for himself.

And when it was over, Danny decided it was time to make things better. Magic affected change in the magician’s reality. The easiest place to start was his mom.

Gustav had told him to study, so study he had; learning about alcoholism and the human brain, dependency and depression. Some of it didn’t make much sense, but he thought he was ready for what had to be done. First, he had to get his mother over her dependency, change her programming. Next, he had to prevent her body from crashing as the alcohol left her system. She’d been a functional alcoholic for a long time now, and he knew the physical withdrawals would be bad. He’d read that some people actually died from the DTs. He couldn’t let that happen to her.

Step one, relaxation. Preparing his mind and body were essential. He had to be calm and alert. Danny began some deep breathing exercises that Gustav had shown him, forcing his breaths to come in slow and deep and exhaling so that he completely cleared his lungs. When he was ready, he focused on his mother. There were a lot of things that could go wrong, if he didn’t do this right. Visualization was the key to success. He had to visualize the alcoholism as a living, breathing entity dwelling within his mother, and then destroy it without affecting any other part of her mind. In changing their reality, he didn’t want to change his mom; he just wanted her to be free from the booze. He wanted her to be happy again.

He kept his eyes shut and floated, his breathing shallow and rhythmic. Then, in the silence, he heard a whisper—the whip crack of a feather, the echo of a cat barking. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Danny’s eyes blinked open and he sat up straight. The living room was dark and empty. He was alone.

But the sound continued.

It shifted, resembling the padding of paws. One second it was behind the couch. The next, it was beneath the recliner, and then perched atop the lamp, and finally all three at the same time. His head darted back and forth, trying to track it, but he still saw nothing. His heart hammered, and his ears rang. The sound changed again to the clicking of crab shells. Whatever it was, he’d heard it before—that night outside the abandoned Greek restaurant, when he’d teleported himself. The same day he’d discovered a dead body…

…and discovered magic.

The sound
solidified
and Danny felt a presence in the room. The air seemed heavy, the atmosphere electric. The lamp dimmed; then flickered out completely, plunging the living room into darkness.

Whimpering, Danny pulled his feet up onto the sofa.

Headlights flashed through the gap in the curtains. A car pulled into the driveway, his mother; the engine’s sickly whine was as familiar as anything else in the house. At the same moment, the presence vanished. The lamp bulb brightened again, dispelling the darkness. The noises stopped. Whatever it had been, it was gone.

Outside, the car door slammed. He heard footsteps and the jangle of keys. His mother opened the trunk. Bags rustled and glass bottles clicked together. Then she slammed the trunk. Her footsteps headed up the driveway.

Pushing the fear from his mind, Danny focused on his breathing, forcing himself to calm down and relax. Visualize. Despite everything that had just happened, he looked remarkably tranquil on the sofa, eyelids half-closed, mouth open, pulse and breathing slowing. Only his eyes moved.

The keys jangled in the lock. A moment later, the front door opened, and his mother walked in.

“You’re home,” she mumbled. “What are you doing?”

Danny couldn’t respond. Although he remained still, his eyes widened. The visualization had worked—maybe too well. The demon Alcohol clung to her back. It looked like a mutant monkey-mosquito hybrid. A proboscis fed directly into her brain. He knew that his mind had created this thing to symbolize her dependency, but it seemed so real. Its flesh wiggled as she shut the door behind her. Its glowing, insect-like eyes regarded him without blinking, a thousand facets of glossy red. He could even smell the creature—rotten and spoiled and sickly. Its thick-toed feet clutched her shoulders. Her hair was twisted in its stubby fingers.

“Danny?” His mother sat the bags down on the coffee table. The bottles clinked.

“Hey, Mom…”

He was suddenly overcome with doubt. What the hell was he doing? Was it possible to stop the thing crawling on his mother? Was it really just his mind’s creation, a representation of her disease, or had he somehow made it real through magic?

His mother collapsed into the recliner, kicked off her shoes, and rummaged through the bags.

“God,” she moaned. “What a day. I hate that fucking place. How was school?”

“Okay,” he lied. “Boring.”

Sighing, his mother pulled a bottle of vodka from the bag and twisted the cap. Then she took a drink.

“Mmm, that hits the spot. I needed this.”

The creature cooed, shivering with pleasure. Danny squirmed. If his mother heard it, she gave no indication.

She looked at him and smiled weakly. Then she took another drink.

The energies he’d been gathering inside coalesced and Danny let them fly, imagining them as a blistering ball that scorched the air between them. He thrust out his hands. Blistering light erupted from his fingertips and struck the demon in the head, severing the spear-like proboscis. Red energy fizzled from the hollow tube like blood, and his mother gasped.

The demon roared; a thousand nails across a thousand chalkboards. Its flesh blackened, blistered and exploded. Flaming chunks splattered against the wall, and sludge pooled on the carpet. His mother was covered in gore. She took another swig from the bottle, stared at his trembling hands, his fingers pointed towards her, and frowned.