Shades

FOUR

Dana Wheeler knew how to use her looks. Her biggest problem was a lack of ambition. She could have gone on to bigger and better things on her own, but she preferred being with the right guys who might take her to bigger and better things themselves.

Currently, the right guy was Tony Amiratti Junior. As far as the public knew, his dad owned a roofing company, an electronics store, and invested heavily in the right stocks. In reality, Tony Amiratti Senior was part of the Marano Family crime syndicate. So was Tony Junior. Like father like son. As a result, Tony had money to spend on Dana. They lived the good life. All she had to do was make sure he stayed satisfied—and she was very good at keeping Tony happy. Much better than the other women he slept with.

Sweat glistened on her naked body. Her nipples hardened as the ceiling fan gently blew air across them. Tony snored softly. Dana was restless and wide-awake. Tony never had that problem after sex. He needed a full night to recover. She didn’t really mind, but now and then it would have been nice to talk afterwards. She glanced at the alarm clock on the dresser. Nine PM. Not late. Sleep would be a long time coming.

The bathroom light was on. Its rays spilled out from the open door and into the bedroom, casting shadows. Movement in the corner of the room caught her attention, and she looked to her right. There was nothing to see, but the fine hairs on her arm rose. One of the shadows seemed darker than the others.

“Tony? Baby?”

Tony mumbled in his sleep.

Dana had always been afraid of the dark. Bad things waited in the shadows. That’s what her older brother Pete used to say when they were kids. He’d told her that shadows had minds of their own. Growing up, she’d believed him. As an adult, the notion was easy to dismiss.

It wasn’t so easy now.

Tony rolled over and smacked his lips. “Tell Vince to ugh wump,” he mumbled. Then he was silent again.

Dana was about to dismiss her nervousness when, in the darkness, something moved again. She sat up. A shadow slipped across the wall and glided slowly along the carpet. The bathroom light did not keep the shadow at bay. She tried to cry out, but couldn’t. As she watched, the shadow slipped up over the foot of the bed. It was human in size and shape, but there was no one else in the room with them. Dana blinked her eyes. Her stomach knotted with old childhood fears. Her brother’s voice taunted her.

She moaned.

The shadow hovered over Tony, settling on him, covering the length of his body. Gasping, he awoke suddenly, jolting upright. His eyes were wide. His mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Terrified, Dana slipped off the side of the bed and landed on the thick carpet. “Tony? Oh God…”

Tony reached for her, his eyes growing wider. Dana jumped to her feet, reaching for the light switch. Tony began shaking. The bedsprings squeaked. And then Dana screamed.

The shadow pushed Tony down onto the bed again and wrapped its hands around his neck. Dana saw finger-shaped indentations on the flesh of Tony’s neck as the shadow squeezed, even though the attacker’s fingers were indeterminable. The shadow shoved Tony’s face into the mattress. Tony’s hands clenched the sheets and beat against the bed. Dana moved closer, grabbing at the shadow. Her fingers slid through the darkness, feeling nothing but a sudden wave of cold.

One of the shadow’s hands released Tony’s neck and sought her instead. Its cold grasp brushed her face and hair while Tony desperately sucked in a breath of air and gagged. Dana screamed again. The shadow took advantage. Its hand slid into her open mouth. The darkness slipped past her lips, her teeth, and pushed into her throat. It pushed into Tony’s mouth as well. Dana had one advantage over her lover—she was still on her feet. She staggered backwards. The shadow stretched like taffy for a moment before losing its hold on her. The frigid, inky substance left her mouth and air rushed in to fill the void. Dana retched. Tony made a small, choking sound.

Without looking back, Dana ran, taking the hallway in four strides, bouncing off the wall as she dashed into the living room. The house was dark, filled with more shadows, more places where bad things could hide. Dana froze, uncertain if she wanted to go further. But she couldn’t go back into the bedroom. The house was silent now, but she had no doubt what was happening back the way she’d come. She slapped her hand against the wall, feeling for the light switch. A framed picture of Tony’s grandmother fell to the floor. Glass shattered at her bare feet. Even though she couldn’t see, she knew the location of the picture. It was the only one in the room. She had to go at least six more feet before she’d reach the front door. Dana stepped forward, forgetting about the broken glass. A shard punched through the bottom of her foot.

“Fuck!” Her voice cracked. She tottered on one foot. Again, her fingers sought the light switch.

She found something else instead.

A hand closed over hers. It was warm, not cold, and flesh, not shadow. Dana tried to pull back, but the hand squeezed harder until she thought her fingers would break.

“Your brother was right, Dana,” a male voice whispered in her ear. “Bad things do wait in the shadows.”

The speaker wasn’t familiar. How could he know about her brother, she wondered?

“Tony…”

“He’ll be fine. Don’t worry about him. Worry about yourself. Now sleep.”

Another hand closed over her mouth and the speaker whispered a word Dana didn’t understand. She slipped from consciousness.

789

In Gethsemane Cemetery, the dead cried out, but there was no one around to hear them.

789

Michael Bedrik received word of his brother’s death at a quarter till ten. He’d barely made it home before the police arrived. He hurried up from the basement, wiping his hands on a dishtowel before answering the door. The chief of police, Ed Winters, stood on his porch. Bedrik made sure to look appropriately mournful as the man gave him the news.

“Will you need me to identify the body, Chief Winters?”

“Well, it’s really only a formality these days, but in this case, no. He was in the water for a long time, Mr. Bedrik. We were able to identify him through prison dental records, so you don’t need to go through that.”

Bedrik sighed. “Well, that is a blessing, at least. I don’t know how I’d…”

He broke off and wiped his eyes, suppressing the urge to laugh.

Winters looked uncomfortable. “I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mr. Bedrik.”

“I appreciate that. Thanks for coming and telling me yourself, Chief. I know it’s not the easiest part of your job.” He put on the proper expression of grief, not quite getting to tears, but broken up inside, as he shook the man’s hand. “I’m afraid it might take me a few hours to make arrangements regarding Martin’s”— he made himself choke—“Martin’s burial. Is that all right? I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“No, really, it’s fine. You take all the time you need.”

Bedrik knew that Chief Winters hated thinking about the dead. He saw it in his mind. Talking about them was one of the best ways around to drive the man away. Winters had dealt with too many deaths in his own family. Too many loved ones buried before their times were due. It was a side effect of a history of serving the community: One uncle and a father who were both police officers and a brother who chose to be a firefighter. None of them had lived past fifty and the police chief was closing in fast on his forty-ninth birthday. Fear was his constant companion. Bedrik tasted it in the man’s aura.

“Thank you again. Be safe on the road, Chief.”

“Will do. Take care.”

Bedrik smiled. “See you soon, Chief. See you very soon.”

After Chief Winters left, Bedrik sat down on the couch and stared at the wall. His amusement turned to anger. Of course he’d known of Martin’s death. After all, he’d been responsible.

In order for Bedrik’s plan to see fruition, he’d had to anchor his shadow to someone else—a homunculus. But Bedrik had neither the time nor the inclination to build one, to harvest it from his own semen and blood and hair and shape it in the moonlight—not when his twin brother would suffice. Bedrik didn’t need to waste his power manufacturing a double. His parents had already manufactured a perfect double for him.

It was easy. He’d simply released Martin from his bonds. One moment, his brother was sleeping in his cell. The next, he was standing alongside the Hudson, staring at Michael in shock, wondering how he’d gotten there and why. Michael answered his brother with a knife. He’d carved sigils that would never be found by the police, because rather than being hewn into Martin’s flesh, they’d been carved onto his soul. Then, Bedrik attached his shadow to his brother’s corpse. A simple circle of concealment had finished the job, hiding Martin in plain sight, insuring that his brother’s corpse wouldn’t be found by prying eyes—allowing time for nature to dispose of the evidence. But somehow, that circle had been broken. Martin’s body had been found.

Bedrik clenched his fists. It should have been flawless. The process had taken only a modicum of power.

Power…

It wasn’t an easy thing, the acquisition of power. You could only go so far with your natural talents. After that, if you wanted more, you had to sacrifice and study and wait. Or, if you were Bedrik, you opted for the easier route. Take the power from someone else.

A perfect example was the girl waiting down in the basement.

Sighing, Bedrik stretched and shook his head to clear his exhaustion. It had been a long day and a longer night. There were other forces at work in Brackard’s Point. He was sure of it. The discovery of Martin’s body proved it. Gustav? Perhaps, but this felt like something more. He couldn’t determine what. Still, despite this unforseen occurrence, he’d made some progress. He’d worry about the rest later. No sense wasting power on it now. Wouldn’t do for him to be impatient.

He returned to the basement. Dana Wheeler lay naked and spread-eagled across the workbench.

“Hello, Dana. I apologize for the interruption. Where were we?”

Her bloodshot eyes bulged. Her screams were muffled by the strips of duct tape around her mouth. Snot bubbled from her nose.

“None of that,” Bedrik stroked her hair. “You have to understand. There are only two ways for me to achieve my goal here. The first would take many years of meditation and offerings, and would hurt me a great deal. The other way—the way I choose—is much quicker and less costly; at least to myself. I only had to give up my shadow, and that didn’t hurt at all. You, on the other hand…Well, let’s just say this will hurt you much more than it will hurt me.”

The knife he took to Dana’s flesh was very sharp.

Bedrik whistled while he worked.

When he was finished, he returned to Gethsemane Cemetery, where the shadows rustled with anticipation. He called out to them and the shades answered.

789

Danny stifled a yawn. He’d read through Gustav’s books. Not all of them, but enough to understand more than he’d ever thought possible. Gustav explained that some people had the potential for science and others for magic. They weren’t that far apart, really, but at the same time, they were almost opposites. Math had set rules it followed, and they never changed. Magic had rules, too, but they were different for each person. Sometimes they changed a lot. Some rules applied to everyone, and others seemed to be made up as you went along.

“Magic is a part of you,” Gustav explained. “You were born that way. You have aptitude, yes? But it is also outside of you. You make magic things happen.”

“Is there anything I can’t do?”

“Much. But then again, if you had the time…” Gustav shrugged. He seemed sad.

“What do you mean, ‘If I had the time’?”

Gustav shook his head. “Is not important. You are young, yes? Will have plenty of time to study and learn. You will do much. All it takes is knowledge and power. That is magic—knowledge and power. Knowledge is up to you. Power you can borrow from others.”

“Can I fly?”

“Only one way to know, no?”

“Can you fly?”

“Sometimes.”

“Get the hell out of here. You’re telling me you can fly?”

“Yes, but not so good. Not for a long time.”

“I wish I could fly.”

“Enough of wishes. Wish in one hand. Shit in other. Read.”

Danny did his best, but there was so much to take in. There was talk of different levels of reality, of how to travel to them, of other worlds and gods and demons—and things that were neither. Half of what he read seemed like a history lesson, only a lot more interesting than the shit they taught in school. From time to time, he asked Gustav questions. Before the night was done, Danny learned his first spell—how to stop wounds from bleeding. Shortly after midnight, Gustav took the book from him.

“Enough. Go. Come again tomorrow.”

“What? But I’m just getting to the good stuff.”

“No. No more tonight, Danny. You learn fast. Took me many weeks to learn my first spell but you got it in one day. Go home to your mother now.”

Danny stood up. His legs tingled as blood flowed into them again. He’d been sitting for so long, completely lost in the book, and his muscles were stiff. He had to piss, and was hungry and thirsty. But when he saw what time it was, he forgot about all that. He was late. His Mom would be pissed—if she was awake. He bid his new mentor goodbye and headed for home.

The streets were empty, except for the occasional passing car. Danny jogged until his sides ached. Then he stopped. He leaned against an abandoned building, a Greek restaurant that had closed down three years earlier. The boards over the windows were covered with graffiti. Trash littered the sidewalk. Something fluttered above him in the darkness, hidden beyond the reach of the sodium lights; a bird, maybe, or a bat.

Unable to hold it any longer, Danny pulled down his zipper. He shivered with relief. While facing the wall, he heard another noise. It was a faint sound, a distant whisper carried through a long tunnel, only there wasn’t a tunnel around. He quickly pulled his zipper up. Then he turned around. The sound continued, but there was nothing to see. Still, there was something out there. He was sure of it. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Maybe it’s looking for me—whatever it is.

The sound was closer now; shifting, never seeming to be in one place. Danny closed his eyes and tried to think of any of the lessons he’d learned through the night, but nothing seemed coherent.

I spun a fucking string propeller on my fingertip and learned how to stop bleeding! How’s that gonna help me now?

The sound changed, snuffling like a dog on the trail of something to eat. Not just any dog, but one like Dusty, the big as sin brute that guarded Silecki’s Recycling. Danny knew Dusty from the last time he and his friends had tried sneaking over the fence to collect a few pounds of aluminum to sell back to the cheap bastard. Ronnie had gotten his ass bitten and half the left leg of his jeans torn off before Jeremy nailed the mutt with a rock and made it let go.

For the first time in a very long while, Danny wished for the comfort of his mother. In the shadows, a black shape disengaged from the rest of the darkness and slid towards him. Danny tried to shout, but all that came out was a wheeze. The shadow stretched, reaching for him.

Danny pushed back against the boarded up door of the derelict building. A humming filled his ears, but it wasn’t a sound—it was a feeling. The shadow slunk closer. The door vibrated. For one instant, his body felt frozen and burned at the same time. Danny closed his eyes, screamed…

…and then slid.

He opened his eyes, gasping in surprise. The restaurant was gone. The shadow was gone. He was home, standing in his living room. He stood pressed up against the wall. His mother was asleep on the sofa, curled up in her nightgown. An empty bottle of tequila on the coffee table told him all he needed to know about her condition. The living room was dark, except for the glow of the television. A guy on Channel 11 was talking about a body found on the banks of the Hudson earlier in the day and how it had been identified as recent prison escapee Martin Bedrik.

Danny shivered from adrenaline rush. He closed his eyes again, trying to calm down. The shadow was gone, whatever it had been, and he was home. All he had to do was figure out how he’d gotten here. Slowly, he smiled. The crappy old restaurant he’d been standing against was six blocks away. It was like he’d been teleported, like on one of those old Star Trek shows.

Danny looked at his sleeping mother, and his smile grew wider.

“Magic,” he whispered. “Fucking magic.”

He checked the garage. His piece of shit bike, the Schwinn which he’d left along the Hudson at Gustav’s insistence, leaned against the wall.

Laughing, Danny wondered if he’d done that, too.

Then he wondered what he couldn’t do…

789

By three in the morning, Brackard’s Point slept soundly. Hook Mountain watched over the town, a dark and dour sentinel. Lightning flashed on its peak, but no thunder followed. There was no one to witness it anyway. The streets were silent and empty, the homes dark, their curtains drawn. The bell atop the Baptist church rang out with three solemn tolls. Even the hardest of the partiers and drunks were asleep.

But out in the graveyard, the dead were awake, and they talked for those who could listen. Most of it was a litany of pain and suffering, an endless sigh of desperate frustration.

Someone else was awake in the cemetery, too. Sam Oberman walked slowly, playing his flashlight over the tombstones. Sam’s philosophy was a nightstick to the head of anyone he caught fucking with the gravestones. He wasn’t just the caretaker, after all. His parents and several friends were buried here. The last case of vandalism had been one he’d stopped himself. He didn’t turn in the kids. Instead, Sam made sure they’d never try it again. Fear was a wonderful motivator and a few smashed fingers went a long way to changing a punk’s perspective on the fine art of graveyard desecration.

Gethsemane was quiet, except for the chirping crickets. Sam stifled a yawn. He was about to go back for coffee when motion between two headstones caught his attention. He pulled his nightstick and shined the flashlight beam over the graves, dispelling the shadows. There was nothing there, but he knew he’d seen something.

“You have ten seconds to show yourselves, assholes, or somebody’s going to be in for a world of hurt!”

The crickets fell silent.

Sam let the beam dance across the memorials. No trash or empty beer cans. No condoms. No signs that anyone had been fucking around.

And then the beam of light found darkness.

The shadows shifted, coiling like tendrils. One of them broke from the ground and rose up. It was human-shaped. The shadow stepped toward him. The flashlight beam disappeared into it. Gasping, Sam backed away. With a yelp, he tripped over a grave marker and sprawled in the wet grass. The flashlight rolled out of reach.

The shade rushed toward him. Sam opened his mouth to scream, and the darkness flowed into his mouth, filling him with coldness.

Sam closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was someone else.