Shades of Gray: A Jude Magdalyn Novel

by L. M. Pruitt

  Turning my palms up, I exhaled, using the moment to re-center myself and think. Storms don’t produce just wind. There’s rain, and lightning. There it was, a light bulb dinged in my head. Or really, more like a V8 moment. Thankfully, nobody was there to slap my forehead.

  I could feel Gillian waiting, somewhere between the outer circle and the middle circle. I could feel from her the same thing I’d felt from the men earlier. Absolute faith I would figure this out, one more thing I had tucked under my belt. It would be great if I was able to accept their faith, and not feel positively petrified by it.

  One thing at a time.

  It sounds silly, no more than thinking of a huge storm to call air, but whatever. I imagined balls of lightning in my hands. I could feel the energy begin to center, and grow. One spark, then another, until my hands were tingling with electric shocks. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes, concentrating on not losing the mental picture of balls of energy. Focusing on one of the straw dummies Gillian had pulled out of an apparently bottomless cabinet, I pictured the ball of energy shooting out of my left hand like a bolt of lightning. Yes, I know lightning really travels in two directions, and blah, blah, blah. This was metaphysics, not regular science. I was betting it was just right enough to work.

  I felt my palm begin to burn, like the lightning was stuck, if it was possible for such a thing to happen. Breathing deep, I switched focus for a moment, bringing the storm a little closer. A little more energy, a little bit of a boost. Maybe that was all I needed to get this to work.

  I could feel it pinpricks of wind. It burned my hands, raw and red and tingling with energy. I moved from wind back to fire, thinking once more about lightning. My blood screamed in my veins, making my head pound, my throat dry.

  I was going to do this. If it took the rest of the night, I was going to do this.

  Maybe it was the sheer determination raging through me, or the universe was taking mercy on me. I felt the skin of my right palm split open, except it didn’t. There was no blood, no pain. Just a flash of light, a crack of sound, and the straw dummy exploded in a small tower of fire.

  Gillian jumped forward, dousing it with the fire extinguisher. It was the first time the dummy had been hit all night. It wasn’t the first time the fire extinguisher had been used. She stepped back - making sure to be way out of the line of fire, just in case the bull’s-eye had been a fluke - and I turned my attention to the second dummy in the long row of them. If I could do it once, I could do it again.

  Another deep breath. A focused thought. My left hand jerking slightly. A flash of light, a crack of sound, and there was a second burning dummy.

  Right, left. Right, left. Down the row I went, until it was a wall of flames. The heat they gave off was intense. I could feel it six feet away from where I stood in the center of the circle. A few marshmallows, some chocolate, graham crackers-I could have myself a s’more or two. Gillian went down the line, putting out my army of dummies, until nothing was left but a smoldering flank of straw. I could still feel the energy swirling in my palms, waiting for me to decide what to do with it. If it had been air, I would have pushed it back the way it came. But how do you undo sheer energy?

  Without options and the energy starting to shift and jerk, I decided to try and work it like I would air. No harm in trying. The best that could happen would be it would work. The worst, well… Gillian seemed to set a lot of store by her salve.

  It was harder than pushing back my imaginary storm, but, hell, everything about working with fire had been harder than air. Maybe there really was a progression of elements. If so, I was royally screwed when I started working with the other two. The energy pushed back up my arms, growing fainter as it moved away from my hands. It made my arms tingle and shake but I bit my lip and kept pushing.

  When it felt safe enough, I began pushing the air back as well. Finally, with my shirt sticking to my back from sweat, my arms screaming in protest at being raised for so long, I felt the last edge of the storm die away, and the energy lingering near my shoulders flicker out.

  Exhausted, my knees buckled, I was probably going to have at least one bruise from hitting the stone floor as hard as I did. I stretched out on my back, breathing, well, like I’d been setting things on fire. There wasn’t a way to describe how overworked my lungs felt at the moment. I held my hands in front of my face, blinking.

  “Shit.” I could hear the shock in my voice, almost hollow. Too shocky. I was about to crash, I could feel it coming. I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that I was getting good at predicting when the fainting was about to happen.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Gillian’s voice had a faint edge of panic to it, and it made me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. Aww…. She was worried about me.

  “My hands. They’re not burned, or blistered. They’re normal.”

  I almost moaned, closing my eyes when I felt the cool towel on my forehead. Even with them closed, I could see true black eating at the edges of my vision. Gillian’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away when she answered.

  “That’s good. You controlled the power, not the other way around.” Her voice was almost a whisper, and I sighed as the darkness slipped over me. “Your mother would be proud.”

  It was a nice thought to pass out to.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Late afternoon sun shone through my window when I woke. I blinked to bring the numbers on the bedside clock into focus. Seven fifteen. Still another hour or so till sunset when most of the house would start to stir and I’d have a million obligations.

  It took me only fifteen minutes to get up and dressed and out of the house. I had a craving for possibly the best sandwich ever, a po’boy. Someone had been kind enough to hang my keys next to the door. I cupped them in my hand to keep them from making any jangling sounds, and eased the door open.

  Thank you for caretakers who keep hinges well-oiled. I needed food and heaven help anyone who tried to get in my way.

  I doubted anyone would actually try and open the front door unless they had a reason to, I locked it behind me. Old habits die hard. I kept to my side of Royal until I was past St. Germaine’s house. I squashed the urge to cross myself as I went past.

  If a sudden need arose, I’d break out my rosary and crucifix anytime I walked by his house. For now I’d try and not be overly paranoid.

  Pulling my sweater closer around me, I made the turn on Toulouse towards Chartres. Mid-August meant I shouldn’t have needed one, but when I’d dressed my hand kept reaching for the thin white sweater draped over the back of a chair. I’d forgotten it, but whoever orchestrated the move of my things to the Crossroads a few days ago had moved everything. Instead of trying to figure out why some part of me was determined to wear long-sleeves at the end of summer, I pulled it on over my purple tank top and slipped on jeans and flip-flops.

  Thirty minutes after I woke up, I sat in the tiny two person alcove in the front dining room of Napoleon House working on a Caesar salad while waiting for my sandwich. The kitchen at the house was fabulous, but nothing beat one of their po’boys.

  If I had to request one last meal, it would be a tie between a po’boy and an omelet from Camellia Grill. I didn’t think Hart would give me an option if I ran into him without any backup.

  I dropped a more generous tip than the server deserved on the table as the dour thought crept through my mind. Service at Napoleon varied, and had definitely missed today. Still, what was the point in suddenly rolling in cash if you couldn’t spread a little bit of it around before you died?

  Stepping on the street, I turned towards Jackson Square. Half hour or so of sunlight remained, more than enough time to find Suzanne and speak with her. I didn’t want to be on the streets alone when night fell. I hadn’t lied when I’d said Hart would do whatever it took to win, and if taking out innocent bystanders got rid of me, I didn’t have a single doubt he’d do it and without blinking.

  No need to get civilians involved.
Not yet.

  Whether my thoughts or the gusts of wind coming off the river caused the shiver running down my spine, I was chilled enough to be grateful for the thin sweater. The area around the Square crowded more than usual with readers and street artists. The weather brings out more tourists, and more opportunities for business. Suzanne sat in her usual spot, though. It would take more than a few extra “psychics” to move her.

  I waited until she finished with a chubby, sweating, red-faced man in complete tourist garb. He even had a fanny pack, which wasn’t the best fashion move when it was in fashion. Suzanne acted like there was nothing wrong with how he looked. When I worked the Square, I would have taken one look at him and cracked up laughing. I wouldn’t have been able to pretend to read him to get the cash.

  Suzanne is much, much better at her profession than I’d ever been.

  Her blonde hair blew gently in the wind, little wisps rising and falling. Her eyes were as serene as the rest of her face. I’d always found you could tell more about what a person felt by looking at their eyes than anywhere else. Something about the serenity, so close to absolute faith everyone threw at me, was just too much.

  For the first time in a long time, I sat down, laid my head on the tiny table, and wept. Oh, I’d cried for Izzy, and for my parents. But since this whole thing had started, I hadn’t cried for myself. Life was too hard, and I was tired, and I just couldn’t hold it in one moment longer. Tears are like everything else on the streets. A luxury you can’t really afford. You learn to lock it away until there isn’t any other place to let it but out. I’d finally reached that point.

  Suzanne didn’t ask what was wrong, or if I needed anything. She didn’t do anything but let me cry it all out. It was relatively short as far as crying jags go, but it wore me out. All I wanted to do now was go back to bed and sleep for a few more hours, maybe let the pounding behind my eyes ease back. Since that wasn’t going to happen, I’d do what I came here to do.

  “You won’t work here again, will you?” It was a statement, not a question, so I didn’t answer. “You’ve bigger, more important things now.” She frowned, her forehead wrinkling with the gesture. “The Covenant is in desperate need of your guidance.”

  “You know about the Covenant?” Why wouldn’t she? Even if she hadn’t known before, because I know, she’d know. She blinked, her forehead smoothing out into its normal lines.

  “Yes. They’re very select. Restricted almost entirely to the descendants of the founding families.” Before I could digest the information, she continued. “But you didn’t come here for this, Jude. You’ve a bigger question.”

  “There’s something bigger than leading a group of hundreds?” I tried to make a joke out of her incredible insight, and failed. The gaze she leveled on me made me squirm just as neatly as one from Gillian would.

  “Your heart, Jude, is more important than anything. You guard it so fiercely, it’s a wonder you have any worries about it at all.” Taking my hand, she traced a line on my palm, the frown returning to her face. “I was mistaken before.”

  A chill shot through me. “Mistaken?”

  “Not one love. Two.” Suzanne tapped a spot on my palm gently with one finger, keeping a firm grip even when I started to tug away. “Your line is broken. The first one short, the second longer.”

  “Which means what?”

  “Two chances at love, Jude.” Her gaze captured mine as securely as her hands had done. “Two chances, separated by grief. You can try to change the course. What I see is too unclear to show whether it’s even possible to do so.”

  This wasn’t the type of news to make me feel better. If I was prone to panic attacks, this would be the point I started having one. “Suzanne, you’re starting to scare me.”

  “The truth is often frightening, until we accept it.” She let my hand go, and I pulled it away, letting it drop into my lap. Suzanne was good, but she scared me right now. What she said hit too close to what Gillian had hinted at earlier. Bad enough dealing with one man, I couldn’t begin to imagine how much of a headache two would be.

  Except one would die at some point. Probably. How do you tell someone that fate, the universe, and destiny are all rooting for you to get together, but the chances they were going to die at some point in the relationship looked good? Call me crazy, but it doesn’t strike me as the sort of thing you can casually work into conversation.

  I tried to pay Suzanne, but she refused. I couldn’t even force it on her. “It is an honor to read for the leader of the Covenant. For the Prophecy.” When she said those words, I gave up. I left her in the Square, a man and a woman sliding into my seat almost before I’d fully left it.

  I crossed Decatur and walked toward the river. The wind blew cooler now, almost cold, and I found myself huddling in my sweater. It was almost never this cool in August. Something skittered along my nerves, but I ignored it.

  There were a few stray people on the Riverwalk, a testament to the cold being real. As I walked toward Canal, a bicyclist whirled past me in the opposite direction, the whisper of chains fading into the night. One of the steamers sounded the horn, and it echoed across the water for a moment before all quieted again.

  I noticed the quiet first. I’d never been in a quiet so heavy and thick you could cut it like butter. I slowed, stopping completely. A minute stretched into five, then ten. And then it hit me.

  The sun had set.

  My heart stuttered for a moment, and I turned on the spot to head back toward the Crossroads. Small problem. A band of not so merry men – and Hart, blocked the way.

  I was fucked. Absolutely fucked.

  “You guys are quick. Sun’s been down for, what, three minutes.” I forced a sneer, and it hurt to twist my frozen muscles into it. “They have meds for guys who are a little fast off the mark.”

  One of the smaller vampires snorted a laugh, and immediately fell to his knees after Hart’s hand lashed out, chopping into his throat. An impressive move, but also let me know how much shit I landed myself in.

  “You’re a clever girl, Jude. A clever girl would understand that antagonizing the man who can solve her problems is not the best move.” Hart’s face was as washed out as the first night I’d met him, but now I could see the fineness in the bone structure, even if it ran a little too much on the prissy side for my tastes. His clothes were as precisely tailored as Williams’ tended to be. I could see how spending two centuries or so together had rubbed off on them.

  “Hart, the only problem I have right now is I’m pretty sure you’re trying to kill me. Which is something I’m not a big fan of, to be completely honest with you.” I was doing my best to try and send a mental message to whoever the hell might be listening, but since I’d never really done it, I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to work either.

  “I could tell you that death is not the horrible experience you think it would be, but….” Hart trailed off, his thin lips tilting up at the corners in a smirk eerily reminiscent of Williams’ smile. “But, if you choose to not take the alternative I plan to offer you, then your death will most likely be as painful as you fear.”

  “You know, I’m just going to go with no as my answer for that alternative. Just a feeling I have. I’m not going to like whatever it is you’re trying to sell.” The wind gusted behind me, and I didn’t have to turn to know there was a train coming. The river to my right, a train to my left, and a posse of vampires in front of me. Perfect.

  “Jude. At least hear me out.” Hart’s smile grew wider, and the men around him began to spread out. I didn’t move because they were going to get me anyway. I stood still and worked on calling a little power. Call a little fire, have a little chat. Totally doable.

  “Give me Williams. Allow me to dispose of him. Put the city under my power.” For a moment, his smile was the sort poets wrote about, like angels smiling. But not. “The Covenant’s members unharmed. No need for a messy war you’ll lose anyway, at the expense of so many lives.”

  It
should have been tempting. He was right; an easy out for my problem. Hell, I’d even get to live. It was about as tempting as week old sushi.

  “Like I said, gonna have to pass.” I could feel tingling little balls of energy surging to my palms. Instead of being scared, of trying to approach the problem logically, I went on instinct. I welcomed the burn in my hand, the rush of my blood down my arm.

  I refused to die. Not here, not now.

  “Not out of loyalty. You owe Williams, the Covenant, all of them, nothing. Where were they when you left the orphanage? Couldn’t they have taken you in then, nurtured you?” They were circling now like a pack of wolves, only Hart and I stood stationary.

  “Maybe. Maybe I would have just laughed at them, told them to kiss my ass.” A few moments more and I could let loose. A sweep of the arm, take out at least half before they even knew what happened. My pulse was up, my breathing fast, my brain icy cold.

  Hart sighed, shoving his hands in his pocket. Time was up. “Such a disappointment, Jude. We could have worked so well together.” At the shake of his head, the group moved forward as one, with one goal. To kill me.

  I whipped my hands out of my pocket, barely clearing the fabric before letting loose with a short burst of lightning from my left. I hit one of them, even though I hadn’t really been aiming. They were close and there were so many of them it was impossible to miss. My right hand let out an echoing shot and I tuned out the screams and wails.

  Short staccato flashes sparked from my hand as I flung my left arm in a half circle, and the screams grew louder. The flashes of light did as much for my vision as strobe-lights do – that is to say, it completely fucked my sight up. If I was counting right, I’d hit four, maybe five. Based on my earlier quick count, there were another half dozen. I couldn’t see to aim at this point, and had to trust when I swept my right arm across the air in front of me that I hit at least two.

  And then like being sandwiched between two brick walls, one of the vamps I hadn’t been able to hit body-slammed me to the ground. My head bounced on the concrete hard enough to see stars, a nifty trick when I could barely see at all thanks to the lightning flashes. My right hand ended up tucked between our bodies, and as I brought my knee up between his legs, I sent a shot of lightning directly against his chest. Rolling out from under the ashing figure, I pushed to my hands and knees, still trying to catch my breath.