Shades

Before they left, Gustav slipped a salt shaker into his pocket and insisted that Danny do the same. He did not explain why.

They climbed into the abandoned police car. Gustav drove. Danny stared out the window and watched the town pass by. He thought of Ronnie and Jeremy. Chuck and Matt. Val and the other kids at school. His friends from the Hill. The assholes from Snowdrop. Everyone in between. He thought of his mother, and of his father, and wished that his Dad was here now. But he wasn’t. In the end, this place had killed him. Now it would probably kill Danny, too. He’d always hated Brackard’s Point. Had always wanted to leave. For all he knew, he might very well be doing just that tonight. Leaving. There were no guarantees that they’d return from Gethsemane. This could be his last look. Danny shivered, afraid. Gustav turned on the heater. Hot air blew gently across their feet.

They drove in silence. Soon, Danny felt better. He reminded himself that with Gustav at his side, there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. Gustav was his friend. Gustav cared. Gustav would protect him and his mother—protect them all.

“Everything’s going to be okay, right?”

“Da. You will see. Everything will be just fine. Soon, we all be back to normal.”

789

A few minutes later, after they’d grown quiet again, Gustav glanced over at Danny and gave him a reassuring smile. Then he looked into the rearview mirror. He kept his expression neutral, careful not to give anything away. The road and the town were lost beneath a sea of black. The darkness was following them, flowing after the car like a wave, just as he’d hoped it would.

The darkness wore the face of a dead man.

ELEVEN

Bedrik knelt in the center of the graveyard, carefully scrawling marks into the ground at his feet. He took caution to make sure that they were correct, every nuance and curve, every line and squiggle. He disliked this part, using his hands. He much preferred to have his minions do the grunt work. He favored magic through concentration, cause and effect through mental strength rather than physical. But sometimes, a magus had to get their hands dirty—or bloody. Or both. Like cutting up sweet Dana in his basement; or what he was doing now—scratching symbols of protection into the soil.

The sky promised more rain. Thick clouds covered the moon. He’d need light for what was about to occur, so he’d once again summoned the lightning bugs—calling them in from far away. Had there been any pedestrians on the street, and they happened to look towards Gethsemane, they’d have thought it was snowing insects. Thousands of fireflies descended on the cemetery, blanketing the treetops with their mass. Now, dazzling balls of luminous green-yellow light hovered over the graves.

Finished with the last symbol, Bedrik stood. He brushed the dirt from his hands and looked at the designs, nodding with satisfaction. Only three people in town would be able to see them—him, and the two who were on their way. Bedrik raised his head, feeling the breeze. He felt them drawing nearer. Felt the boy’s anger and the old man’s apprehension.

He turned to his subordinates, the former Sam Oberman and Tony Amiratti Junior. They stood next to an old, moss-covered crypt, the white stone graying with age and pitted from exposure to the elements. The boy’s mother was tied to the stone with black silk ropes. The silk was a crucial element—a requirement, as was its color. She was naked, her mouth gagged, eyes blindfolded with another swath of silk.

“Mr. Rammel,” he said to Amiratti, “when they arrive, you will stand by the woman. You will not act unless I command you to, and then you will act swiftly. If I tell you to do it, you will pick up that onyx blade and cut her throat.”

“Got it,” Edward replied. “You want I should call some of Amiratti’s men and have them on standby, too?”

“No need,” Bedrik said. “However, have you noticed that your speech patterns are becoming more and more like Tony’s?”

Rammel shrugged. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Very good.”

“What about me, master?” Oberman stepped forward. “What will I be doing?”

“You, my friend, will play a very important role. Come here. I’ll whisper it to you.”

The possessed night watchman walked towards him. Bedrik pulled him close. As Oberman leaned in, Bedrik flattened his fingers and hand like a knife blade and thrust it into the man’s chest. Fingertips parted flesh like butter, cleaving bone and muscle and ripping through the soft organs inside. The shade inside Oberman—Thomas Church, the drunk driver—screamed as it oozed out of the shredded corpse. Bedrik sucked the spirit into himself, breathing it in through his mouth and nose like it was fog.

He wiped his bloodied hand on the wet grass and sighed with satisfaction. Then he looked at Rammel and grinned.

“I needed that. I’m tired. It’s been a very long day.”

“Couldn’t you have just had a cup of coffee?”

Bedrik laughed. “Indeed. The effect is quite similar.”

“Won’t you need Oberman to keep people away from the cemetery?”