Shades

Bedrik stood in an alleyway, staring at the smoldering wreckage of Giordano’s Happy Bottle Shop. Beneath the rubble, the fires still burned despite the rain. The storm’s fury had increased throughout the night. Rain fell in sheets, mercilessly blasting across houses, cars and trees. The gutters overflowed and the runoff swept through the streets, washing away debris. The cold water soaked through his clothing, dripped from his chin and nose, and plastered his hair to his head. But Bedrik felt no chill.

His hatred kept him warm.

Gustav had breached the wards he’d so carefully put in place around his home. Granted, the old man hadn’t pushed through with the assault, but the very fact that he’d penetrated them rattled Bedrik. Still, Gustav had fled rather than provoke him further. The Russian was probing, testing Bedrik’s power and strength. And if his distraction at the end proved anything, it was that their encounter had left Gustav drained. That was why the old man left—to recharge and recuperate. Gustav wasn’t nearly as strong as he’d expected. Bedrik knew that he needed to press forward now, attack his rival while the man was still weakened. But not here—Brackard’s Point was neutral ground. And it couldn’t be at Gustav’s domicile. That would be foolish, giving the old man an advantage. Nor could it occur in Bedrik’s home. Gustav had probed his defenses and found them daunting. He would not return.

There was only one place such a confrontation could happen; Gethsemane Cemetery. There, Bedrik’s power would be strongest, with hundreds of shades at his command, just waiting beneath the soil. In addition, he had his army of townspeople whose bodies already housed the dead. If he could somehow lure Gustav to the graveyard, disposing of him would be easy. The Russian couldn’t possibly withstand such an assault. His power would wane in the face of it. Then, Gustav would be under his control.

Bedrik turned his attention back to the wreckage. It had been all over the news. That was what had brought him here. Not the explosion, but the fact that three survivors had found themselves floating in the Hudson, rather than burned to a crisp.

Magic.

But it was raw, unchanneled. The work of an amateur. This couldn’t have been Gustav. This was someone else. Bedrik ignored the rain creeping down his back and concentrated on the ruins. He was not as adept with temporal magic as he’d like, but there had to be evidence he could use. All he needed was to catch the scent.

Investigators combed through the wreckage despite the downpour. None of them paid attention to Bedrik and he returned the favor. His eyes glazed over as he concentrated. There, beneath blackened bricks—a glimmer. He focused, finding a faint trace of the power that had caused this destruction. With that dying ember, he caught the psychic scent. The rest was easy. The magician, whoever it was, had shed residual energy as they left the scene, like a fizzling sparkler. Bedrik followed the trail back to its source.

Danny’s house. And Gustav was inside as well.

So. There was his proof. The Russian had taken the boy as an apprentice. An adept. And thus, he’d left himself open to defeat. Bedrik knew Gustav’s weakness.

Danny.

Now all he had to do was exploit it.

Bedrik summoned his minions, and then hurried home to prepare.

789

Normally, the sound of the rain drumming against the roof soothed him, but Danny couldn’t fall asleep. He finally gave up and wandered into the living room, where Gustav lay sprawled across the couch, snoring lightly. Danny shivered. The old man slept with his eyes open. Danny moved on to his mother’s bedroom and checked on her. She looked peaceful. She hadn’t woken yet, but Gustav seemed positive that she’d recover.

Danny sighed. Only a few weeks ago he’d wanted to leave Brackard’s Point and never come back. Now, looking down at his mother, he wanted to stay. But could he anymore? His Mom was hurt. Matt had been arrested and was probably in the juvenile detention center. Chuck, Ronny and Jeremy were pissed at him. He’d blown up a liquor store. And his teacher was a renegade magician. None of it made sense.

If magic was so great, why did he feel like such a loser? Cool new tricks, same old Danny.

Exhausted, but still unable to sleep, he lay down on the bed next to his mother and closed his eyes. The only sounds were the rain and her soft, low breathing.

Finally, he slept. His dreams were full of shadows.

TEN

His mother was still asleep when he woke up. Danny tried again to rouse her, but she didn’t respond. Sunlight streamed over her pale face. As he looked at her, fresh guilt overwhelmed him again.