Geoff Cooper - Shades

“Twenty cigarettes.”

“Ah, yes, but how much water? How much gold?”

“It’s not gonna hold water. It leaks. And who cares how much gold it holds? It’s not like we have any.”

Gustav snatched the empty pack from Danny’s hands. He held it out in front of him and closed his eyes. He muttered something in Russian. Then he opened his eyes again and tossed it back Danny. The pack hit him in the chest. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Danny grunted as the box bounced off his thigh. He reached down and picked it up. It was heavy—no longer empty.

Slowly, Danny opened it and shook the contents into his palm. He stared at the dull yellow lump.

Gold.

“How? How the hell did you do that?”

Gustav tapped his head with one long finger. “I learned how. Magic is limited by knowledge. You have to know what you want and how to make it happen, yes? What is chemical composition of gold? Do you know? If not, you can make pretty colored rock instead of the real thing. Magic is a tool. Like a knife, or wheel. Is only as good as what you know.”

Danny held the gold in his trembling hands. He didn’t know how much gold went for per ounce, but he guessed he was holding that dirt bike in his hands—and then some. His heart rate increased. He licked his lips. While he stared at it, Gustav got up and went into the kitchen. He returned with a fresh cup of coffee and stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray.

“Here.” Gustav held out his hand.

Danny regretfully returned the gold. Then he glanced around the living room. The place was a dump.

“How come you live here, Gustav? I mean, if you can make gold, then you could live in any mansion you wanted. Why even live in Brackard’s Point? You could be in a Manhattan penthouse.”

“I like it here. I get a mansion then I have to make money all the time just to keep it up. Here, I have little house. I clean it myself and don’t worry about money. I need more, I can always get it. Money is a tool, too. Just like magic.”

“Yeah, but it’s a nice tool to use.”

“You are young. You do not understand.” Gustav tapped the gold lump. “This can buy you things, but then you have to make more. Sooner or later, people ask questions you don’t want to answer.”

He handed the gold back to Danny.

“I can keep it?” Danny asked, surprised.

Gustav nodded. “Da, you keep. But, you also go to school instead of hunting crabs for money. Go to school because you need to learn, yes?”

That was all the convincing Danny needed. Already, he was figuring out how to cash in the gold and where he’d keep the money until he could get the dirt bike. No way could he let his mom find the cash. Not this time.

He paused in his thoughts.

“Gustav, can magic change people?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, my mom. She’s a drunk. Can I make her sober with magic?”

“For that, you need a lot of school. What part of her mind do you change? You make her not want alcohol and maybe she wants cocaine, instead. You make her not want anything then maybe she forgets to eat and starves. Your mother stays clean and maybe she wonders why you spend so much time with old Russian bum, yes? Nyet. The mind is dangerous to play with. Your brain must be strong first.”

“But it can be done?”

“Why you think love spells work so good? Of course it can be done! But first, you must know the mind, or you make bad mistakes.”

“Have you ever made a mistake?”

“Yes,” Gustav whispered. “Many mistakes. Many sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices? Like, what kind?”

“Is not important. What is important is that you go to school before truant officer finds you here. We would both have to explain, yes? And that wouldn’t be good. Now go.”

789

Weeks passed. Danny went back to school and studied hard. Soon, he forgot about the dirt bike and escaping Brackard’s Point. He pushed those plans aside and focused on class instead. He begged off doing things with his friends and went to the library instead, a building he’d spent years actively avoiding. He discovered the sciences wing, with textbooks, dictionaries of medical terminology, and a copy of Grey’s Anatomy. Gustav continued teaching him every other day. One day to listen, one day to think, was how the old Russian put it. First you learn, then you absorb.

At night, Danny thought about what he’d learned, and wondered how long before he could change Brackard’s Point into a place he could tolerate.

789

Bedrik stayed busy, too. His army continued to grow with each trip to Gethsemane. Edward T. Rammel’s shade dwelled inside Tony Amiratti Junior. Rammel was grateful for the second life, the chance to experience everything all over again—and to experience it as someone else. Since the senior Amiratti was in Atlantic City these days at the request of Marano, Tony controlled much of his father’s local empire. Thus, Bedrik, who commanded Rammel’s shade, was now in charge of the town’s organized crime. It was the first step towards dominion.

Gethsemane’s night watchman, Sam Oberman, had been his second recruit, taken over by the shade of a drunk driver named Thomas Church. With Oberman under his control, Bedrik could work in the cemetery without concern of getting caught. With each shade he freed from the grave, another of the town’s most influential citizens became his pawn. Attorneys, bank managers, town officials, the fire chief, ministers, even the zoning officer; they were all puppets on his strings, all doing his bidding. Slowly, Michael Bedrik possessed Brackard’s Point.

Of course, not all of the transitions were smooth. There were flaws in any plan. Bumps in the road. The unexpected discovery of Martin’s body had been the first.

Erik Riley was the second.

789

Erik Riley had been a drug addict in life. Cocaine was his drug of choice, shooting up his method of delivery. He’d died of an overdose the night of his senior prom. He’d raged from beyond the grave about how unfair it had all been—until Bedrik summoned his shade.

“You’ve disappointed me,” Bedrik whispered, squatting next to the body. “What should I do with you now?”

Erik looked up at his master through Chief Winters’ eyes, and knew fear for the first time since his death.

Bedrik held his hands out; his palms hovered inches from the big man’s heaving chest. Inside, he felt Erik’s shade fighting to hold on.

“What to do,” Bedrik wondered aloud. “What to do with you?”

Once inside the body of Chief Winters, Erik’s shade had reverted to his old habits. Now he lay here on the floor of Chief Winters’ home, a needle jutting from his arm, his skin the color of death. Having the chief of police die of a drug overdose wasn’t part of Bedrik’s new power scheme. A drug scandal would increase public scrutiny. He’d planned on infiltrating the media eventually, but not this soon. And not before news of Chief Winters’ death would be plastered all over the papers and broadcasts, attracting unwanted attention to Brackard’s Point.

But neither could he allow Erik’s shade to continue inhabiting the policeman’s body. Erik had proven himself unreliable; unable to avoid the sins of his past life.

Bedrik stood up. His knees popped, loud in the silence. He winked at Winters.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Erik whimpered through Winters’ mouth.

Bedrik went into the kitchen and searched through the cupboards until he found a canister of salt. Then he returned to the living room and poured the salt out in a circle around the policeman’s body.

“Erik Riley,” he said, “I have bound you to me, and commanded you to do my bidding. It is through my power that your shade walks the earth again. Now, I command you to return to nothingness. I cast you out of this form, cast you out of this existence, and cast you out of this plane. Get thee behind me and do not return. Your shade shall fade with the dawn.”