The walk home had never seemed longer. It hurt to think. Hurt to feel. What good was magic when it couldn’t change what had happened, or erase the memories from his mind? He’d never felt worse. He’d ratted on a friend, an unforgivable sin. But Matt’s sin was greater. Matt wasn’t just in trouble this time. This was more than detention or a beating from his old man. Matt was in deep shit. And Val—Danny thought about how he’d felt when she touched his arm. Somehow, that made what had happened to her seem even worse. He was disgusted with Matt for what he’d done, and disgusted with himself for the guilty arousal he’d felt when he saw Val’s exposed breast.
He wished that magic could make the entire day just go away.
Ronnie, Chuck, and Jeremy caught up with him on Ghilcrest Road.
“What the fuck happened?” Ronnie demanded.
Danny studied his friends. Ronnie and Jeremy were coiled tight, ready to snap. Chuck was sullen.
“Chuck said Matt was acting weird. Well, you were right. He tried to rape Val.”
“Jesus…” Chuck shook his head in disbelief.
“Damn,” Jeremy snickered. “Didn’t know he had it in him.”
“And you stopped him?” Ronnie asked.
Danny nodded. “Yeah.”
“Cool.” Ronnie seemed relieved. “But if you stopped it, then why did the cops arrest him?”
“I just said, man. He tried to rape Val.”
“She told on him?” Chuck asked.
Danny didn’t respond. He stared at his feet.
“Dude,” Jeremy muttered, stepping forward, “tell us she ratted him out. That’s what happened, right?”
Danny shook his head. The three boys pressed closer, surrounding him.
“You didn’t narc on him,” Jeremy said. “No way. Fuck that noise.”
“Yeah,” Danny whispered, “I did.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Danny!”
“Well, what was I supposed to do, man? He tried to
“Why not?” Jeremy hollered. “He’s one of us, man. You chose Val over Matt?”
Chuck ran his hand through his hair. “This is fucked up.”
“Don’t give me that,” Danny said. “You guys would have done the same thing. Ronnie? You like Val. You would have told on Matt, too. In a heartbeat. Tell them.”
Ronnie didn’t respond. He stared at the ground. Chuck looked away. Jeremy spat at his feet and glared at Danny.
“You know what,” Danny said. “Fuck you guys.”
“Fuck you, too,” Jeremy shouted.
Danny pushed past Ronnie and Chuck, turning his back on them and walking away. He tensed, waiting for Jeremy to swing, waiting for all three of them to jump him. They didn’t. Somehow, that made it worse.
Danny wanted to turn around, but he resisted the urge. Instead he kept walking. He felt them staring at him, felt the silent incrimination. They thought he’d changed. He didn’t hang out anymore. He’d told on Matt. In their eyes, he was somebody else. But he hadn’t changed. He still felt like the same person. Only now, he was the same person without any friends.
Except for Gustav.
He just wished the old man had told him about magic’s price before he paid it.
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.
