Shades

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.

“What are you doing, Danny? You look like you’re having a seizure.”

Incredibly, the creature was still moving. Its burning remains leaped into the air, narrowly missing the ceiling, and landed on the carpet, a headless, twitching abomination. Danny reached out with his mind and caught it, gripping the monster with his will, crushing the wriggling thing in on itself, tearing through its body like termites through soft wood.

His mother called his name again. Gray-green demon blood dripped into her open mouth.

“Danny, what’s wrong with you?”

The demon vanished, obliterated.

“Danny? Answer me. Are you okay?”

He blinked, then raised his head and smiled at her.

“I’m fine, Mom. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Good. You know, sometimes I—”

She trailed off. Her jaw went slack. Her eyes drooped. Slowly, the vodka bottle slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. The liquid sloshed out onto the gore. His mother slumped over in the chair, unconscious.

“Mom!”

Danny leapt from the sofa and ran to her. Her mouth hung open. She was breathing, but just barely. With one trembling hand, he reached out and shook her. His mother did not respond.

“Mom?”

He squeezed her hand. It was cold.

“Mom, wake up!”

She did not answer, did not move.

Oh no. No no no no no…

His vision blurred. What had he done? He’d wanted to fix things, make them right. But despite all of his confidence and research, he wasn’t a magician. He was just a stupid kid. At that moment, what he wanted more than anything was to be comforted by the nearly lifeless pile of flesh slumped in the chair.

“Mommy?”

Still no answer. Frantic, Danny called for someone else—called out with his mind.

Gustav, come quick. Please come quick. Something’s wrong.

If the old Russian heard him, he did not answer.

Danny had never felt more alone.

789

Outside Danny’s home, the presence hovered without form, without mass. Only its emotions had substance—thoughts, feelings, intelligence. Revenge. It longed to break free, to walk the world once more. Distraught, it felt itself fading, slipping away again. Its anguished cries were inaudible.

Then it was gone.

789

Gustav smiled, waiting for Bedrik’s response. His point had been proven. He’d let the other magus know that he was aware of his presence. Now the challenge would begin. The next move was Bedrik’s. Be it psychic or physical, he wouldn’t attack right away. His opponent was under the mistaken impression that Gustav was actually stronger than he was. Bedrik would be wary of a direct assault. Gustav counted on that. He had to make sure that illusion remained, make sure Bedrik continued believing he was stronger. It was the only way to buy time, and Gustav needed that time to increase Danny’s power.

And even then…

You’re a fool, Bedrik ranted. 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.

Before Gustav could reply, Danny’s summons slammed into his head.

Gustav, come quick. Please come quick. Something’s wrong.

The boy’s voice was panicked, on the verge of tears.

Cursing, Gustav ran into the night.

789

Gustav did not knock. He flung the door open and stepped into the house, out of breath and hair askew. His gaze swept past Danny and lingered on the boy’s mother lying on the couch. He sniffed the air.

“I smell magic, yes?”

Lower lip quivering, Danny nodded.

“Have you moved her?”

Danny flinched at the anger in his mentor’s voice. Gustav had called him ‘boy’ again, rather than ‘Danny’. He fought back tears.

“I…I moved her from the chair to the sofa.”

“Move aside.”

Danny stepped out of the way, barely able to look the man in the eyes.

Gustav dropped down on his knees in front of the couch and checked her pulse and breathing. He lifted up one eyelid and stared. Then he let it drop shut again.

“What did you do, boy?”

“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I was trying to help her.”

“This is help?”

“It was an accident! You said all I needed was knowledge and power.”

“And you have neither. You’ve learned nothing yet. And power—power should be saved until ready. Not tossed away like…” He nodded at the limp form.

Tears slid down Danny’s cheeks. “Can you help her?”

The old man shook his head.

“Gustav,” Danny begged, “please, can you help her?”

Gustav muttered in Russian and then stood up. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“What can I do to help?”

“What can you do? Leave. Get out. That is what you can do. I need silence to concentrate. Go see your friends.”

“I can’t. They’re all mad at me.”

“Then go to my house and read. But do not be here right now.”

“Why?”

“I said leave,” Gustav shouted, waving his hands. “Do not question. Always with the questions, you are. Go. Get out. I can’t concentrate with you dancing around like circus bear. Go away. I call you when I know what we can do.”

Nodding his head, Danny left the house. The night was miserable, dark and windy, threatening to rain. It suited his mood. He didn’t bother getting his bike out of the garage. Filled with restless energy and no way to focus it, Danny walked. The sidewalk beneath his feet was the same, but seemed different than the day before. Everything had changed. He’d lost his friends, and possibly killed his mother. And for what? For magic? To make things better?

Was it so bad, his mom’s drinking?

Yes, it was. It hadn’t been once upon a time, right after his father’s death. But over time, it festered like a wound; the alcohol infected her bloodstream, changing her. She’d been beautiful once, everything a mom was supposed to be. Now, her face was puffy and there were dark circles under her eyes that she hid beneath a layer of makeup when she went to work. At night, she passed out in front of the television, and only got up on time if he woke her.

All he’d wanted was his old mom back, his old life, to be happy. He’d wanted the fucking dirt bike his dad promised him and the Yankees season tickets and dinners out almost every night and for his friends to have a shot at good things, too.

Now he had shit.

Danny’s hands curled into fists. The energy built inside him. He could feel it pushing against his chest and skull. Then the rain came. Thunder boomed. A fat raindrop splattered against his head. Then another. More pelted the sidewalk. The trees rustled as the wind picked up. He looked up from the wet concrete and got his bearings. He was at a crossroads. Six blocks from school, six blocks from where his best friends had decided he was a traitor, and six blocks from the road leading to the Haverstraw Marina—where it had all begun. Six-six-six; Danny still had a lot to learn about numerology, but he knew that was a powerful number.

Then he glanced across the street and smiled without humor.

Giordano’s Happy Bottle Shop.

Neon signs flashed in the window. The cardboard standee of a buxom blonde girl in a miniskirt and t-shirt stood inside the door, advertising the can of beer in her two-dimensional hand. He’d seen the girl before, a beautiful fantasy promising fun and maybe even a chance to lose his virginity if he’d only buy a twelve pack of the brand she offered with an eager smile. He knew the beer well. His mom drank it when she needed something lighter than tequila or vodka.

“Fuck you,” Danny said to the cardboard girl and the window between them. Slowly, he took in the rest of the details of the Giordano’s liquor store. The feverish energy rampaging through his system swelled.

He didn’t think about it, just let it happen. There were two customers inside the store, and Mr. Giordano was behind the counter. Mr. Giordano, the man who was there for his kids, who took his family on vacations every year, and bought them anything they wanted and kept his promises. How much of that had his mother financed? How many times had she taken his cash and left her little I.O.U.s, all so she could afford another bottle?

Fists pressed against his sides, Danny closed his eyes and pushed. Then he opened his eyes again and watched.

The people inside the store disappeared. One moment they were there, and the next—they vanished, blinking out of existence in a single heartbeat. Simultaneously, every bottle inside the building exploded, spewing their contents across the floor and shelves. Shards of glass shredded the smiling cardboard girl. The store window shattered and broken glass rained down on the sidewalk. Danny pushed again and the air inside the building grew hot. The alcoholic fumes saturating the store burst into flame.

The last of the energy drained from him. Danny suddenly felt very tired. He stared at the store, his mouth hanging open. The fire raced through the building.

“Oh shit…”

He turned and quickly walked away, careful not to run and risk attracting attention to himself. It was hard to do. He had to resist the urge to flee. The falling rain increased, quickly soaking his clothing. Thunder boomed again. Behind him, the store exploded. Danny spun around, shielding his eyes with his hand as a massive ball of flame engulfed the store. His ears popped from the pressure. Fiery debris pelted the three cars in the parking lot. A station wagon was thrown into the air, rolling three times before it crashed into a dumpster. Superheated air slammed into him. Danny staggered. He smelled burning hair, and after a moment, realized it was his. The small, fine hairs on his arms were singed.

The sky opened up, and the rain poured hard and fast.

It did nothing to extinguish the inferno burning inside of him.