Jude's Magic

by Hollis Shiloh

  Jude stood up, his eyes filling. "Where? Has he asked for me?"

  "No. He's too stubborn, you know that. But he's mentioned you, and he…he sounded like he wanted you there." He looked at his brother with sad eyes. "I know he hurt you when he sent you away. And we've all missed you. Maybe if you can fix him…"

  Jude shook his head. "I can't go back. I belong here now. But I can fix him. L—let me get my coat. I'll go with you."

  Teddy sat back, his gaze filling with relief, the tension leaving his posture. "Hurry."

  Jude jerked his head in a quick, sharp nod, tightening his mouth. He dashed from the room.

  He didn't hesitate or stop to tell Ferrous, just ran to their room, grabbed his coat and hat, and ran back downstairs shrugging into the one and slamming the other onto his head. Teddy was waiting by the door, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, his hands in his pockets. He looked up guiltily, his expression wary and frightened for a moment. Then he turned away and pushed the door open.

  They went outside. The cold pushed against them, fierce snapping wind. It was autumn, but there were cold days, and this was one of them. The garden had a spell to keep the frost away, so it was always more or less pleasant back there, but now, as they left the building and headed out to the street, the cold hit him full force. Jude shivered and pulled his collar closer; Teddy did, too.

  He walked fast, and Jude hurried to keep up, trying to pull even with him. "Teddy," he said in almost a gasp. "Slow down."

  "I can't," said Ted, sounding more nervous and tense than he should. His voice were tight and clipped. There was something about him, his hunched shoulders, his strange voice… it was almost as though he wanted understanding and forgiveness, but at the same time, didn't want to even look at Jude.

  "Don't blame yourself for Dad," said Jude, panting, hurrying after him. His breath made little clouds in the air. It was nearly dark, and dusk was falling rapidly.

  Ted's steps quickened. He turned a corner into a dark alleyway.

  "Ted!" pleaded Jude, picking up his heels and starting to run. "Wait, please! I don't want to—"

  Two men stepped into his path, big men with big muscles. It was a dark alleyway, and Ted was behind them, his shoulders hunched as he leaned against the wall.

  "Ted!" pleaded Jude, his voice sounding like a sob. You betrayed me. Father's not ill at all, is he? He tried to turn, scrambling for purchase.

  The men caught him, dragged him back. Their hands prickled sickeningly with hard, angry, hurting magic, and he felt faint, dizzy from the nearness of them, from their cruelty and magic. He closed his eyes, trying to shrink into himself. They shoved him roughly against the wall.

  "He's a weak thing, isn't he?" growled one. "Not so big as he looks."

  A hand reached down, flicked his crotch. "Oh yes, he's not so big."

  Jude shivered, gasping in a frightened breath, squeezing his eyes shut harder as if that would close this out. He didn't call for his brother again.

  Two sets of footsteps ran toward them.

  "Jude!" cried a heartbreakingly familiar voice.

  Jude snapped to life. "Ferrous!" he screamed. "Ferr!" Now instead of wilting, every ounce of his being surged against their strong hands, fighting to be free, to reach his wizard.

  Two men burst into the alley, Ferrous and Alphonse, their hands bright with a kind of light magic. They held their hands up, blinding the men, who made sounds like pigs squealing and shrank away from Jude, trying to hide their faces. Jude squeezed his eyes shut, trembling. The magic wasn't aimed at him, but it was dark, heavy, and sickening with its knife-sharp aim to hurt. There was nothing subtle about it, and it left him dizzy and reeling, about to gag.

  The attackers moved away from Jude, and Ferrous caught his shoulder. "Come on, let's go home!"

  Jude shrank away from him; his touch prickled and burned like electricity. "Don't—"

  Footsteps ran away: his brother, and the two attackers. Alphonse sent a pulse of something hard and fierce after them. Someone screamed. The footsteps quickened.

  Then Alphonse turned on him with savage scorn. "What did I tell you about leaving the house, you brat?" He caught his shoulder and shook him roughly. "Get home!" He jerked him to his feet and shoved him toward the alley's entrance.

  Jude landed on his knees, retching. "Stop—"

  "Let's go home," said Ferrous firmly. "Come on, Alfie. Stop it. Let me." He tried to lift Jude tenderly and support him, but Jude wrenched away from him, gagging.

  "Stop—stop touching me!" He tried to get to his feet, but another brush of someone's hand send him into a gagging fit. He hadn't eaten recently, but his stomach kept trying to empty itself anyway.

  "Enough," snapped Alphonse savagely. "Stop putting on an act. It's your own fault, and you're being a spoiled brat. Get up!" His foot connected with Jude's backside.

  It didn't help.

  "Alf, leave him be." Ferrous's voice held an angry warning.

  They turned to one another and began to argue. Away from their hands, Jude found the strength to pull himself to his feet. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and stumbled from the alley. With the added distance from them, more of his strength returned. He could breathe again with the suffocating energy of the hurtful magic's echo not so close. He began to run.

  "Jude!" yelled Ferrous.

  Footsteps began to pound after him. He ran harder, terror seizing him.

  One set of footsteps quickened faster than the other, and he knew without having to look who it was. Ferrous was almost completely whole, but he wasn't fast. Alphonse was fast and hard as a jaguar—and right now, he felt as dangerous. Jude put on a burst of speed.

  He ran. He pelted down the street, into another alley and through the street after that, far and fast. The footsteps followed him, one man falling farther and farther behind. "Jude!" cried the despairing voice of his beloved Ferrous, who had become poison to him.

  The other set of footsteps stayed close, hounding him. The cobblestone streets seemed to sway as he ran his fastest. Don't trip, don't trip! he willed himself, his breath wild and ragged in his throat.

  A hand grabbed the back of his collar and yanked.

  "Let me go!" cried Jude, twisting and turning in terror, struggling to get free.

  Alphonse threw him to land back against the wall in the alley.

  Jude hit hard and started to slide down, all the strength leaving his knees with the close presence of such anger and magic. The taint was there again, making him feel physically ill, queasy and weak.

  Alphonse drew back a hand and smacked him backhanded across the mouth. "Get up. We're going home!"

  Jude sank lower, putting his arms over his head protectively. He was shaking. He couldn't speak.

  Alphonse hit him again, a harder blow, this one landing on the shoulder, and then shook him, hauled him to his feet and pushed him ahead. Jude stumbled along, gulping and trying not to gag. He was trembling all over, lightheaded and frantic.

  He was in survival mode now, with no ability to reason or trust. He simply had to escape. He took quick, hard gasps for breath, fighting down his bile, trying to gather his strength.

  And the moment Alphonse's attention wavered, he made a break for it. He gathered his feet beneath him and sprang, deer-like and desperate.

  "Jude!"

  He heard the shout of frustration behind him, then felt malicious magic reaching out, reaching for him. Something twinged hard in his side, and his steps wavered. He gasped in pain, that familiar shooting stab like the time he'd broken one of his ribs.

  He ran anyway.

  He ran and ran like death itself was chasing him. And eventually, the footsteps behind him fell further and further back. Then he didn't hear them at all. He slowed to a hobbling gait, and took more turns, and finally, finally came to a rest beside a stinking trash can behind a bar. He closed his eyes, breathing as shallowly as he could, too tired to do anything more.

  Inside the bar, glass broke and shouts and
laughter rose with tinny piano music, spilling out into the alley, and to his ears. He rested there as long as he dared, then hobbled on.

  #

  Jude woke to the pain that hadn't really stopped following him all night. He'd slept lightly and restlessly by the river. He hadn't quite dared approach the communal fire, but it felt safer to be near the other hobos. Eventually he'd fallen asleep, freezing, to the sound of the noisier men still carrying on together, and now he was waking a little before dawn. No one else seemed to be stirring, which gave him a little time with his thoughts.

  It also gave him the strength to put his magic to work, healing the hurt in his side. It eased almost immediately, and soon he could breathe without pain. He was pretty certain it had been a cracked rib. The relief made thought easier. He hadn't had the magic last night to fix himself; it had deserted him with his exhaustion and terror. Now it was seeping back, a warm relief after the cold, hurting magic of last night. He shivered again at the memory.

  But the worst of it was his brother. Someone had wanted to hurt or kill him, and his brother had helped them. Either for money or from being threatened, Jude might never know which. But Teddy had clearly done it on purpose.

  One thing was for certain: Jude couldn't trust any of his family ever again, just in case.

  With nowhere else to go, he really ought to go back to the mansion, at least to say goodbye and gather his things. But the very thought made him shudder and feel ill. Alphonse was there; Alphonse who had hurt him, hated him, and would probably hurt him again. Even if they were exceptionally kind, the hurting magic would hang around them all day, possibly for several days. Making him feel ill. Making him want to scream with the pain of it.

  No, he couldn't go back, at least not yet. He also had to stay hidden, in case someone still wanted to hurt or kill him.

  Life had really taken a turn for the better, hadn't it?

  Jude didn't even have a change of clothes now. And if sharing an apartment, pounding the streets for work, and going hungry frequently had been hard before, how would he feel now without even a place to stay or any safety at all? He had grown soft, used to being secure, loved, and cherished. Now, all he could think of was the way he'd felt when Ferrous touched him.

  It shouldn't have surprised him, but it had: that utter revulsion. The hard, dark magic had even been worked to help him, to save him, but it still affected him that way. How would he possibly handle it when Ferrous went back to the dueling ring?

  I won't make it. How can I, if I feel sick just being near him?

  And Alphonse, of course. He had become like a dragon to Jude, filling him with a shuddering, unreasonable terror. That angry magic-user Alphonse was somewhere, waiting to pounce. It felt as though he hated Jude, as though he wouldn't mind hurting him, perhaps quite badly this time.

  He'd hit, punched, called names, dragged him, thrown him against a wall, and tossed painful magic at him. He'd been disgusted by Jude, even though he'd at first tried to protect him. It wasn't something Jude could face, at least not yet.

  It had been bad enough subjected to his father's rages, and he'd never done half so much to Jude. He'd certainly never used magic on him or made him sick with the presence of it: Father didn't have any magic.

  No, it was going to be a long time before he could go back to Ferrous, if indeed he ever could.

  #

  Jude dipped his hands into the hot water again, pulling out the shirt, plunging it in and lifting it out. His back muscles burned. Working at a laundry wasn't the best job he could've found, but it was better than nothing, and the owner hadn't asked too many questions.

  The job also kept him off the streets so he couldn't be spotted by whoever wanted to hurt him. His boss hadn't even minded when he wanted to sleep in the back of the laundry. The little cot there was his for the rent of a dollar a week, and he could sleep surrounded by the smell of laundry detergent and clean clothes drying. The rest of his money went for food, a pair of used clothes, and a tiny emergency fund. It was regrettably small.

  His hands were red and raw each night, and each morning, he healed them again. The boss hadn't said anything, but when he noticed, he got Jude to heal his hands, too.

  Jude didn't mind. The man spoke in short, sharp sentences, when at all, but he used no magic and he hadn't hit Jude even once. Jude curled up alone each night on his thin, creaky cot, pulled his knees toward his chest, and dreamed.

  Most nights he dreamed of Ferrous. Of going to bed together, sharing everything, talking and laughing. Of Ferrous's tender hands and big, warm smiles. Many mornings Jude awakened close to tears. Oh, if only it was safe to go back, to be with Ferrous again. But it probably never would be. Because how could such a weak, sensitive man be around someone who used his magic regularly in the dueling ring to injure others? If Ferrous wasn't doing so yet, he would be soon. And it would probably almost kill Jude to be near him then.

  He longed to at least say goodbye. But how could he? How could he contact Ferrous without revealing himself, either to the men who wanted to hurt him or to Alphonse? It tormented him, but he didn't know what to do, except for what he was already doing: hiding and surviving.

  When he didn't dream of Ferrous, he dreamed of running. He ran and ran, down endless dark, cobbled streets. But he was never quite safe.

  #

  One day he was walking back from eating lunch, hurrying and keeping his head down, when he realized someone was following him. Someone with hard, heavy steps.

  How do I get out of this one? His hands were starting to tremble as he neared the laundry. He cast its warm, clean-smelling safety a regretful glance and strode past.

  There was nothing for it but to go past the laundry, so he didn't lead this man to his home. He could only hope to lose the stalker and then find his way back later. If I survive long enough.

  He sped up. Then he was running, and the footsteps following him ran, too. Why didn't someone do something? Why didn't someone help? His thoughts were a frantic whirl of terror as he ran. But the crowd simply made way. Nobody stepped up; nobody did anything. Were they under a spell, or simply didn't want to get involved?

  He ran into an alleyway, hoping to lose himself among the twists and turns of the city. But whoever was following him—he hadn't even dared take a moment to look—was fast, and didn't seem like he was going to be shaken.

  I'm going to die, thought Jude, a sinking feeling filling him even stronger than his terror. I'm going to die and never see Ferrous again. He'll never know what happened to me, and I'll never get to say goodbye.

  A redheaded stranger stepped into his path. "Look out," he called cheerfully, raising his hands, gathering magic. Jude flinched aside, bringing his arms up to shield himself. The redhead flung magic, and it was a hard, dangerous magic, despite his cheery face. Something exploded in the air, and the footsteps stopped. The man following Jude groaned and fell heavily to his knees. Jude went to his knees as well, bringing up his lunch with painful wrenching heaves.

  "Are you hurt?" asked the redhead, sounding concerned. He touched Jude's shoulder.

  Jude gagged harder. "Please—don't—touch me," he grated. The man stood back.

  "All right." The redhead sounded perplexed, but he obeyed.

  The distance helped, and after bit Jude was able to stop gagging. He raised himself wearily to his feet. "I don't kn-know why someone wants me dead," he said shakily, facing his rescuer, "but thank you. I—I have to go now. Your magic… it makes me ill."

  "Does it?" The man had freckles on his nose; it crinkled up attractively with his look of interest. "My uncle would be curious about that."

  "I have to go," Jude repeated wearily. He glanced at the man who'd been following him, but didn't recognize him. He was a large man with dark hair, who now lay unconscious, sprawled in the alleyway.

  "Not just yet, maybe," said Freckles. He weaved a quick hand in the air in front of Jude, looking at him apologetically. "I think you'd better come with me first." Jude was suddenly
cocooned in a sticky, numbing spell that made him feel far away and strange. He found himself following, plodding along behind the cheerful redhead.

  Why can't I get away from them? Why can't they leave me in peace?

  But he was too numb to even give in to tears.

  #

  "Here we are. Wipe your feet!" called the redhead. He'd led Jude to a small wooden house just outside the city.

  Jude wiped his feet. He couldn't help himself; he simply obeyed. He could make me do anything now, he thought bitterly. These wicked magic users. He had never hurt anyone with his magic, but they couldn't stop, could they? It was always something.

  "Hey, Uncle Percy!" called the redhead. "I've got someone I want you to meet! He gets sick around magic. Isn't that interesting?"

  I wish I could punch you, thought Jude bitterly. But he knew very well he couldn't have. Even if the redhead's magic hadn't made him sick, he'd never have punched the man. He simply didn't hurt people. He was too gentle for his own good.

  What had it ever gotten him but pain? He was mocked, kicked around, and taken advantage of. Even his own brother had used his gentleness against him. Of course he'd go running back to Father, if he was needed; Teddy hadn't even had to pretend Father wanted him back. He'd just gone.

  "Here he is," said the redhead, flicking his fingers, and suddenly Jude was free. He fell to his knees gasping, tears filling his eyes.

  "Don't do that to me!" he yelled, covering his head with his hands and shaking so hard he could barely breathe. His breath was jagged and strange, burning with the taste of his bile.

  "Sorry," said Freckles, not sounding particularly sorry. "I couldn't think of another way to get you here without hurting you."

  "Could've… let… me… go!" He started gagging again from the after-presence of painful magic. Dimly, above his pain, he took in his surroundings.

  The room had a variety of science-looking paraphernalia, test-tubes, and instruments. A bewhiskered, graying man with glasses tottered over to him, knelt and put a hand on Jude's back. "What seems to be the matter, son?"