Shades (11 page)

Matt/Wells lunged at him, and Danny unleashed the energy inside him. The power left his body in a rush, a wave of energy that erupted from his fingers and struck the other boy in the chest. There were no pyrotechnics announcing the attack; merely thought and the action that followed. Danny focused, tried to visualize pulling the shade of Timothy Wells from Matt’s body, and blasting it back to the grave.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Matt screamed as his flesh blistered, turned gray and sloughed onto the sidewalk. His eyes dribbled down his face, his exposed bones blackened. He took a step forward and his charred ribcage snapped, spilling his insides with a wet, red splash. He fell apart, liquefying where he stood, decimated by gravity and his own violent convulsions. His bones cracked and splintered. The skeletal fragments turned to dust.

Danny stared in revulsion. His stomach heaved. He turned away and threw up all over his shoes. His vomit splattered into the puddle of gore. Something dark coalesced in the center of the remains—a dark, swirling form that grew in size and then erupted into the air. It was a shadow, a human shadow, and it screamed.

Then it was gone.

The street remained empty. There was no movement from the windows of the homes. The yards were deserted. Nobody had seen. That didn’t make it better. Danny trembled, horrified at what he’d just done. Just like the liquor store, the destructive wave had flowed out of him, uncontrollable and overpowering. And now, one of his best friends was dead as a result. Because of him.

Because of magic.

No, he thought. That wasn’t Matt. It was somebody else.

But was it really? Yes, Timothy Wells’ shade had been inside of Matt, but where had Matt gone? Could his spirit—his consciousness—still have been trapped inside his own body, a prisoner? If so, then Danny was a murderer.

He stared at Matt’s remains and willed his friend to come back. He balled his fists and pushed with his mind, wishing for it to be reversed. He visualized the puddle reconstructing itself, flowing and shaping into a body.

Let me take it back, please!

Instead, the thing that had been Matt dribbled down a storm drain.

Danny sobbed. Gustav had told him that magic had a price. He’d said that sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

But he hadn’t told Danny that it would hurt so much—or that the cost would be so high.

789

Bedrik felt Timothy Wells die for the second time.

Cursing, he picked up the phone and dialed the police.

789

Edward T. Rammel watched the house through Tony Amiratti Junior’s eyes. The old man and the woman were inside. There was no sign of the boy.

Edward had enjoyed his new life so far. Power, wealth, sex—what wasn’t to like? He got to play a tough guy, just like the mobsters in the movies he’d loved when he was alive. It had been daunting at first, pretending to know people he’d never met and trying hard to fit in, to not give away that he wasn’t who they thought he was, but he’d managed. Maybe the fear Tony Amiratti inspired in people had helped. But since taking possession of Tony’s body, Edward had given them all new reasons to fear him.

A police car rolled slowly down the street. Edward grinned in satisfaction. The others were arriving right on schedule, eager as he was not to disappoint their Master. Bedrik was already angry over Wells’ failure. If they screwed this up…he shuddered, unable to contemplate the ramifications.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the house and two men got out. They glanced in his direction, looking at the bushes where he was hiding, and then quickly turned away.

Careful, you morons,
he thought.
Don’t let him know I’m here.

The others approached the house and Edward tensed, preparing himself.

“Showtime!”

789

Gustav felt their presence seconds before they knocked on the door; three men who were not men but something else.

He glanced at the bedroom. Danny’s mother slept soundly. He’d checked on her throughout the day and was satisfied with her progress. Another twelve hours or so and she’d awake, fully recovered.

Moving quickly, he ducked into the kitchen and rubbed salt onto his hands, feeling the tiny grains scratch against his calluses.

The knock came again, insistent. Gustav crossed the room and opened the door. Two policemen stood on the porch. Their badges glinted in the late-afternoon light. Their uniforms were crisp and clean. The men were young, mid-thirties, and in strong physical shape. One of them wore a gold wedding band. The other had a neatly trimmed mustache. Their police car sat at the curb, washed and glinting in the evening sunlight. But despite appearances, Gustav knew the men were not police officers. Oh, they had been, once. But no longer. Something else was inside them now—some
one
else. The dead lived, walking the earth in borrowed bodies.

The policemen who were not policemen didn’t smile.

He’d felt three presences, and wondered where the third had gone.

“Good afternoon, sir,” said the first. His nametag read, ‘STINE’. The other’s nametag said, ‘PUGLISI’.

Nodding, Gustav returned their frowns.

“How may I help you?”

Stine hooked his thumbs into his belt and hitched up his pants. “We had a noise complaint, sir. Care if we come inside and have a look?”

“Da, I care. I do not invite and you cannot cross.”

“Police business, sir. We do have the legal right to search these premises if we have reason to believe—”

“A policeman could, yes,” Gustav interrupted. “But you are not policemen. Nyet. You are not men at all. You are little shades, playing at being men. Is not Halloween, little spirits. Take off your costumes and return where you came from.”

Puglisi reached for his sidearm and Stine took another step forward. With a speed that belied his age, Gustav’s hand shot out. He grabbed Stine’s arm and pulled with his mind. Stine jerked as if electrocuted. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. Gustav’s fingers dug into his flesh, squeezing. Darkness flowed from Stine’s pores and orifices, forming into a shadow and hovering above the body.

Puglisi fumbled with his holster, obviously unused to it. Without releasing his grip on Stine, Gustav laughed at the other.

“Your master should have given you more time to get used to your new body. You’re slow on the draw, ‘pardner’. Not make good cowboy. Me, I watch many westerns. I will show you.”

Gustav cocked his free hand like a pistol and pointed it at Puglisi. A bolt of energy erupted from his fingertip and hit the officer in the chest. Such an attack, launched by a more inexperienced magician, would have had much more explosive results. But under Gustav’s control, the shade inside Puglisi flowed from his pores, mouth, and nose, just like the other had.

Both shades floated in the air, tethered to their hosts by a thin wisp of shadow. Then Gustav made a scissors motion with his hand and the shades screamed.

“I have bound thee,” Gustav shouted. “Now I sever those ties. You thought to challenge me, no? I have defeated the Nerpa in the cold wastes of my home. I have spoken with the Siqqusim and wrestled with Belial and danced with Pan as the leaves change color. I have walked through fire and rain and the spaces in between. You have no power over me.”

The shades began to dim.

“You will not return to your graves,” Gustav continued. “Nyet. You will not go to next plane or the Labyrinth or anywhere else. Even the Void is not for you. No Heaven. No Hell. You are not even dust. You return to
nothing
.”

As he spoke, the shades faded until there was nothing left. The soulless bodies collapsed on the front step like sacks of flour.

Gustav stared at the police car.

“Easy to deal with shades,” he grumbled. “Harder to make car and bodies vanish.”

He stepped out onto the porch and dragged the lifeless officers inside. Then he straightened up, wincing at the pain in his back.

“Now,” he muttered, “where did third one go?”

He no longer sensed the third’s presence. Could he have been mistaken initially? Could there have only been the two? He hurried to the bedroom to check on Danny’s mother. When he opened the door he cursed.

Danny’s mother was gone.

The bedroom window was open. The curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. The sheets on the empty bed still held her body’s impression. He could still smell her perfume—the only lingering trace that she’d been there. Gustav ran to the window and looked outside. There was no sign of anyone. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, but felt no presence. Whoever had abducted her—if indeed she’d been abducted—was already gone. How could he have been so stupid? The policemen were only a distraction, keeping him occupied while Bedrik got his real target. But why was Bedrik interested in Danny’s mother? Gustav opened his eyes and turned back to the bed.

I have her, old man.

The voice inside his head belonged to Michael Bedrik.

Why,
Gustav asked.
She is not part of this.

Perhaps, but the boy most certainly is. And if either of you want to see her alive again, you’ll both be at the Gethsemane Cemetery at midnight. Don’t dally. Don’t be late. And come alone. Just the two of you. No one else. If I learn that you’ve informed anyone else, especially your precious Kwan, death will be the least of her worries. Every Hell I know I will make her suffer. Do I make myself clear?

Gustav didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he snapped off the telepathic link as easily as turning off an appliance. A slow smile spread across his face. Bedrik wanted Danny to accompany him to the graveyard.

That was perfect.

Gustav turned his attention back to the two dead bodies and the abandoned police car, intent on cleaning up all loose ends. He’d have to use magic, reluctant as he was to do so. It was the only way to make them disappear quickly and safely. Doing so would leave him taxed for tonight’s confrontation, but that was okay.

He knew where he could get more power.

789

The house felt wrong. That was the first thing Danny noticed when he burst through the door. His mother’s car was still in the driveway, but there was no sign of her or Gustav. The television blared to an empty living room. Phil Donahue was arguing with people who didn’t believe in paying child support. Danny switched the channel to
The Transformers
without even thinking about it, and then turned the volume down.

“Gustav?” he called. “Mom?”

There was no response. The furniture was all in place, the shades drawn, just as he’d left it that morning, but something still seemed…
off
.

He checked the bathroom, but the door was wide open and there was nobody inside. Trying to ignore the feeling of dread building inside of him, Danny made his way down the hall to his mother’s bedroom. It was empty. The window was open. Gnats buzzed into the room. He called out again, louder this time, but got no answer. Outside, the breeze shifted, making the curtains around the open window rustle. Danny sniffed the air. He smelled something pungent burning in the back yard. The barbeque grill? No, that didn’t make sense. After a moment, he realized what it was—burning hair.

He ran back down the hall, stepped through the sliding glass doors in the kitchen, and darted out onto the patio. Gustav was stooped over the grill, his back to Danny. He was muttering something under his breath, a phrase or spell, not in English or Russian but a language Danny had never heard before. The barbeque grill’s lid was closed, but thick, black smoke and flickers of orange flame shot out from beneath it. Danny’s eyes watered. Here was the source of the stench.

Gustav did not turn around. “One second, boy. Am almost finished.”

“What are you doing? Where’s my Mom? What’s burning in the—”

Gustav did not turn around. Instead of responding, He merely held up a hand for silence.

Danny did his best to stay quiet. He moved away from the choking smoke and staggered out into the yard. He saw no sign of his mother. The yard was full of weeds and trash. A leaning, sun-bleached fence separated their property from the alley. As Danny glanced around, he noticed something odd in the alley. There was one spot immediately behind his home where his vision grew blurry. He turned his head back and forth. Every time his eyes came to rest on that one place, his vision went out of focus. He’d read about this effect at Gustav’s, had experienced it first hand when he’d discovered Martin Bedrik’s body along the Hudson—even though he hadn’t known it at the time. Hiding in plain sight—Oriental magic, more a trick of the mind than anything else. Ninjas used it, and Danny thought ninjas were cool, especially Snake Eyes on
G.I. Joe
. That’s why he’d remembered it. He also remembered how to overcome it.