Gray BeginningsÂ
Prologue I
can't do this any more. Not
if I want a life. It
didn't stop his feet from moving forward, nor his ears from listening
to the tidal wash in his brain. He was a rhabdomancer, a dowser, the
last in his line, and all too cyclic. Too tied into a feral Earth, which
other humans dismissed as just so much rock and soil. There'd
been a time when he'd prided himself on his inner knowledge--for this
weird connection which set him apart--but that had been kid stuff, belonging
to those years when he'd wanted desperately to own, to be, something
special. It hadn't seemed like such a handicap then. For
a while, he'd even assumed that most people could do it, given the opportunity.
It's what they said in the books, and it made him less of a freak. The
difference being, other people did it by choice. It didn't always happen
that way for him. There were too many times like tonight, when the urgency
demanded action. He
could think of a dozen things he'd rather be doing...and most of them
involved sleeping. Jasper
wiped the sweat out of his eyes and listened his pounding heart. Hearing
anything besides the gush and churn of the Earth was a good thing. He
was thirsty as hell now. He'd sweated out so much in this race through
the night, oblivious as he'd been to everything except getting here. And
here I am. Again.
This house, this place, was haunting him. There was some core here--some
surge of restless energies beyond the siphoning runoff beneath the surface.
It drew him here--had drawn him here over the years. Again,
and again, and again. Toad's
Hole. Ramshackle house, which always managed to hook him like a
hungry fish. There were a few other places, which lured him nearly as
strongly, but with them he maintained some power to resist, whereas
the Hole could roust him from a sound sleep. On nights like this, he
wanted to burn it to the ground, but seeing as that was unlikely to
address its native soils, some time back he'd decided a heavy dose of
explosive might fix the situation nicely. Not
for his friend Tim, of course. He owned the Hole. Blowing the place
to smithereens would definitely reduce its property value. If
it were mine… Jasper
ignored the familiar creak of the half-hinged gate. His eyes rested
briefly on moon-glazed surfaces: the dew-drenched shingles, the beaten
and half-sunken porch, the matted roughness of dirty glass. This ancient
derelict might be his friend Tim's heritage, but the truth was, it didn't
interest Jasper as it stood--not as wood and block and stone. It drew
him for another reason entirely, which he'd never been able to figure
out. Even now, as he dropped to his knees and forced his fingers through
the weedy mat of lop-lurched grass, to seek the soil, he wondered whether
the contact would be enough. Angry, he jabbed stiff fingertips into
the humus layer beneath, finding a weak satisfaction in the way he had
to ferret his way through the heavy thatch. Like
water, seeping through the rock layers. Like
lava, jettisoning all blockages aside. He
lost time; his eyes trapped by his inner vision. Black fluids and jagged,
sharp-edged stones; dead-white roots, moist like maggots, tapping their
way into the heavier soil beneath; sandy loams, rich and red; masses
of granitic slabs, with speckled scatters of shiny quartz, beckoning
him on. It was beautiful, terrible, wondrously…irresistible. The
visions of detritus and organic residue kept clouding his vision. There
was a purity to the inorganic--to rock--which the organic didn't own.
To Jasper, the rock might be a living entity, but it bore no emotion,
to wear a man down. And it didn't tear a man apart--a man with vision
like his own--the way the organic could. Every microbe, every rotting
carcass, every expanding rootlet held a signature, and demanded a piece
of his perspective. An
owl, on the last flight of her nightly hunt, landed on his back, talons
digging into his shoulder. Shocked out of his reverie, his statue-self
jolted, and the bird lifted, dropping her mouse burden onto his shirt. A
dead organic on your back was the most startling distraction of all.
Jasper jerked fully awake. The deceased mouse slid down onto the dirt,
next to his chilled fingers. Without its sudden appearance he would
have been in danger of losing himself, and only awakening when the sun
stained the skies pink. It had happened before. He
withdrew bloodied fingertips from the soil, staining the wet grass culms
as he went. He spared a regretful look for the mouse, lying there in
bloodstained inglory. It had been a lousy night to be out--for him and
the mouse. Jasper shivered. Too damp and chill for comfort. At
least, though, now he'd be tired enough to sleep. Sleep
on, little Mouse. He covered its repose with a layering of dead
leaves. Resolutely,
and with the first inklings of peaceful resolve which could numb him
to his talents, Jasper Muscovite Gray turned around and trudged back
the way he'd come. *
* * * * Chapter One Flynn
Falco was droning on in the background. Jasper couldn't listen to him--wouldn't
listen to him. What was the point? He agreed with nearly everything
Flynn was saying. He
just couldn't admit it. “Ya
know, it's okay to be paranoid.” Flynn's crunching left bits of broken
apple dotting the couch. “About your earning capacity, anyway. I'd
be the same if I changed jobs as often as you do.” Jasper
tuned back in. This was about to become a conversation. Two-way talk
required more effort. He restrained his sigh, and kept his voice light.
“Get my food--” He booted the couch-back and watched the apple bits
bounce onto the floor. “--off my couch.” Distraction.
The legerdemain of the magician. Flynn
chucked the core onto the coffee table. “Don't take it out on the
furniture. All that pent-up aggression'll have you punching holes in
the wall before you know it.” “It's
my couch,” Jasper reminded him. “My
apple. My couch. Vehemence. Violence. Hostility.” Flynn's fingers
tightened on his PDA. He so clearly wanted to use this. His pained sigh
was nearly as dramatic as some of his blog pages. “You don't have
to worry. I won't mention this on Fallen.” Jasper's
snort of laughter brought a frown to Flynn's face. Jasper held up his
hands defensively. “Glad I'm not noteworthy.” “It's
not that.” There was a look in Flynn's eyes which told Jasper just
how much he was longing to express his opinion--and that if Jasper wasn't
having any of it, there were about twenty thousand people online who'd
love to hear what Flynn Falco thought about “Jasper's Job Jumpin'".
Flynn said the last aloud, then groaned, frustrated. "You've
named it?" Jasper couldn't quite hide his dismay. The last
thing he wanted was to be the focus of attention--and there weren't
too many people around named "Jasper". He
knew Flynn had no idea how well his friends could read him. The truth
was, Flynn was riding on ego these days. He'd discovered weblogging,
and his gift for rhetoric had won him lots of fans. He now had people
hanging on every entry, from his first yawn, through his repetitious
(but never boring, if Flynn was to be believed) workday, to his last
bathroom stop. Flynn's friends were all stars of the “Fallen &
Co” epic, too, and Jasper had seen more of him throughout the
last three months than he had during the five years before. The
man was on an active hunt for content. For the first time, he had an
eye for detail, too. Scary stuff, if you had anything to hide. “I'm
nothing but a video vampire,” Jasper remarked. “Boring as hell.”
He smirked. “You're just afraid you'll run out of copy. No Jasper
Jingleshine to enliven the piece.” For
an instant, temptation must have overcome Flynn's resolve. “If you're
worried, I'll slant it. You'll be a god--or pitiful, depending on how
you want it.” Flynn grinned. “I'm open to almost all suggestions.” “I
suggest you don't mention it, then.” A
flicker of annoyance showed in Flynn's eyes. “Glad to know you have
some pride.” Too bad Jasper was back to not listening again. Jasper
was pacing around, lost in thought, idly picking up newspapers, books,
pens, only to drop them somewhere else. He lifted the small globe and
spun it. “Knew I should have moved...dammit.” "So,
compound your mistake with fourteen more." Flynn sounded exasperated.
“Jasper, no good will come of this. That moving comment merely shows
how much your brain has deteriorated. 'Moving' should not be confused
with 'moving up in the world'.” Jasper
shrugged. Flynn
tried again. “This whole quitting thing's a joke. Must--I--be--blunt?” “Blunt
as a well-honed sword.” Jasper's eyes glinted. “One beer down, you're
a fount of wisdom. Two beers, you're blunt as…” “…a
ballcock?” Flynn grinned. Jasper
snorted. “Try a ton o' lead…or a slab o' concrete.” He added,
just loudly enough for Flynn to hear, “Dumb as a pole ox.” “I
understand if you suck at your work. That's all I'm saying.” Flynn
added with a saccharine smile, “No offence." He paused, no doubt
for effect, before adding kindly, "Did you ever think maybe you
were in the wrong field?” Jasper
Jingleshine's last job in Flynn's blog had been as a teabag stuffer. "I'm
preparing my tea leaves even as we speak." Jasper picked up one
of Flynn's crunched beer cans, and, more disgustedly, the ground-down
apple core, and headed for the kitchen. “By the way, I'm scaling down.
Moving into Toad's old place.” Flynn's fingers on his shoulder were
like iron spikes digging at the muscle. Jasper wondered whether Flynn
would have made the contact had he realized how Jasper read it: the
blood pulsing through the man's core, like hot lava churning in a magma
chamber; the regular fluid wash seeping in circular feeding frenzies
to thousands of expanding cells; the delicate flows of minuscule messages
through impossibly small fragments of cellular membranes. Stop
it! Flynn's
heavy hand lifted, but the weight of his presence was almost menacing.
He seemed determined to stop Jasper from making yet another dumbass
mistake. “You're moving into Toad's Hole? What the hell's wrong
with you?!” "Practical
decision." "Uh-huh." Jasper's
shrug didn't dissuade Flynn this time. He stood there staunchly, arms
crossed, blocking Jasper's way. Jasper
grimaced. It hated it when Flynn got all hell-bent on saving him from
his own stupidity. It didn't happen all that often, but it was never
pleasant. “So,
let me see if I have this right: you really believe this could in
any way be construed as a 'practical' thing to do.” Flynn gritted
his teeth. “Practically falling on your head, ya mean. No one--except
rats--has lived there for nine years.” “Right.” Flynn
waited, for a more appropriate response. “There must be some reason,”
he prompted. No
effect. Flynn
tried again. “It's derelict. No view. Bad lighting.” “I
know. Bad view, bad lighting, bad air, bad paint--” “Shitty
yard.” Jasper
grinned. “There's that.” Flynn
asked baldly, “Then, why? Are you broke? Because if that's the case,
you can move in with me for a while.” Because
I need to hide. And the 'Hole', with its incredibly apt name, held
just enough suggestion of Jasper's reality to be perfect for his purposes.
The only part which had him worried was the size. All those empty rooms,
with drafts passing through. There was a chance it would drive him nuts. “Don't
preordain disaster.” Jasper muttered the words, as he stared,
a little blindly, out the window-framed hardscape of house and curb
and car. The saying had been his grandfather's, and it was one of their
few conversations which Jasper had retained. The rest had been, so frequently,
about channeling. Nothing Jasper wanted to talk about. Nothing he wanted
to know more about. “Excuse
me?” Flynn was affronted--no doubt about it. “Nothing
makes you more of a victim than to predict a predilection.” Jasper
could see Flynn wasn't getting it, so he added, “For disaster. Just
because I'm moving into the Hole, doesn't mean I'm destined for it.
Disaster, I mean.” He grinned. “Negative thinking." Jasper
remembered using that same explanation once before. They'd been his
last words to his dying grandfather. He doubted they'd have any more
effect with Flynn than they'd had then. His grandfather had been determined
to ball up family tradition and shiv it at Jasper. Jasper
had flat out refused. Flynn
interrupted his thoughts. “Are you finished with your self-delusion,
or can anyone join in?” Jasper
tuned back in. “Sorry. Arguing with a dead grandfather. For a moment
there, you reminded me of him.” Flynn looked none too pleased at the
latter, and he opened his mouth to comment. Jasper cut him off with
a quick, “I'm thinking about buying it. The Hole--it's for sale, you
know.” It
worked. If Flynn had been shocked by Jasper's rash decisions in the
past, he looked positively astounded now. “You are out of your
mind,” he pronounced. “Do you know what a 'fixer-upper' that wreck
is? Tim's lucky he got out of there in one piece--and that was years
ago! Do the words 'broken leg' ring any bells?” Hell,
yeah. But, Jasper couldn't voice the words aloud, any more than
he could express reluctance at his decision. The truth was, he hadn't
chosen Tim's house--it had chosen him, dammit. He'd known it since the
day he'd first gone to visit Tim there, to the day when they'd had to
fish Tim off the basement floor where he'd landed, bent and broken.
It had been a waiting game, and Jasper had done his damnedest not to
think about it. It was difficult not to, though, when he ended up spending
a fifth of his sleeping hours out there on the grass. If he owned it,
maybe he could finally exert some control. Bulldoze the place, dig up
the soils, put in condominiums, if that's what it took. It might be
Tim Marchmont's legacy, but the man didn't care if Marchmont House was
demolished, as long as he didn't have to be the one doing it. “You're
losing it. Can't redo a wreck--or even wreck a wreck--with nothing.” “Loans
are--” Flynn
held up a hand. “Stability. Steady employment. An income.”
He added, “Don't assume anybody else is going to rush to buy the land,
either. It's zoned residential.” “Guess
you don't see this as a good move, then.” “No.”
Flynn's tone was as flat as his expression was angry. “I don't.”
Something in Jasper's face must have told him his display of ire was
wasted. Jasper Jingleshine had already made up his mind. “Tim would
be the first one to tell you--” he began, his nostrils flaring. “Yeah.
He did.” “So?” “So,
they're tearing it down next month--” Flynn
rolled his eyes, then finished what Jasper wasn't saying. “--unless
some fuckin' moron buys it first.” “That's
right. The 'fuckin' moron' we're talking about…is me. You're not my
keeper--” Jasper began, realized how stupid, even ungrateful, it sounded,
and snapped his jaw shut. “Keeper?
Hell, no!” Flynn roared. “But I'm beginning to think you need one.”
With that parting shot, he smirked, gave a rude salute, and sauntered
out the door. * * * * * It
wasn't the first time. Jasper
had broken the Family Code before, over the years, but he'd always been
able to excuse it, because it was for someone else. It had always been
for someone else. He'd never made it personal, till now, and he'd always
been smart enough to conceal his generosity behind the guise of anonymous
donors. He
hadn't gone treasure hunting to buy friends, either--merely to save
them. All of which meant he'd never before made the big mistake--the
one which was threatening to ruin him now--of acting in the open. Stirring
greed in your circumference, according to the Code, was nearly as bad
as claiming treasure for yourself. The
phone rang, once, before whoever was on the other end changed his mind
and hung up. Jasper had been avoiding calls since Flynn's departure.
Rules of social conduct suggested never doing business with friends.
It had just never occurred to Jasper that any of them would question
his purchase. Oh, he knew they wouldn't like it, because the Hole was
such a wreck, but he hadn't expected that anyone other than Tim would
be interested in the financial aspects. I
guess I'm a little naive, regarding the way these things are done. Jasper
had merely conducted his business the way he always had, for himself
and his family, in performance of family duty. It had never occurred
to him that his methods, or his means, would come into question. I
wonder if it's too late to call it an inheritance? No--they
all knew his father and his miserly attitude. Cherton Gray had not been
a happy man. The last thing he would have done was ensure fiscal happiness
for his son. In
that moment, Jasper was tempted to reveal all. The
Code warns against it for a reason.
Not only would it reveal him as a liar, it would suddenly make him look
as penurious as his forebears. If he was so capable, and being a Seeker
was so easy, then why wasn't he rich? A
messy business, that, and difficult to explain. Jasper wasn't even sure
he understood the complexities of it himself. How to explain larceny
on such a grand scale without making all Grays appear like? In
this, at least, the Code was right. No one, not even Thea, was ready
for the kind of admissions he'd need to make, if he were to even once
open his mouth. Nor did he want to see accusation in her eyes--in any
of their eyes--once they realized he'd lied to them, all along. Jasper
booted the overstuffed chair, straightened the tie he'd donned for his
Resignation Day, and attempted to put all the uproar out of his mind.
He was feeling porous enough--the last thing he needed was more distraction
to make him vulnerable. Else wise, he'd be back on his knees in front
of Toad's Hole tonight, stabbing at the soil again. I
need a mission. Something noble. It usually worked to distract him--and
it made a useful flexing of his metaphysical muscles, to keep him toned. To
keep me in control. This
afternoon he'd make it something of his own choosing. Another treasure
hunt, for someone else's lost cause. Salvaging refuse, like the ancient
alchemists, but with a more modern context: money out of mud. A mission
of mercy, to save the day. He
was even grinning at the thought, as he strode out the door. *
* * * * The
moment he peered out the peephole, into Flynn's glaring eyeball, Tim
Marchmont, formerly known as Toad, knew he was in for it. As it was,
Flynn didn't even wait for him to fully open the door. Tim had barely
cracked it when Flynn's voice preceded him. “So, how did you talk
him into it?” The tone was deceptively cool. Give
Flynn a reason, and he can sure put a man on the spot. The
worm turns. Tim had no doubt that, in Flynn's eyes at least, Tim
Marchmont was the worm. It was enough to make a grown man squirm. Tim
spared a thought for Jasper, who was probably, even now, pondering his
descent into domestic despair. His
choice. Turnabout
was supposed to be fair play, and God knows, Jasper had made Tim sweat
enough over the decision. Hell,
it was still making him sweat. Tim mentally consigned Jasper to Hades.
The man had been reserved enough with his revelations to Tim, and they
were undertaking a business deal together. What had prompted him to
loquaciousness, with Flynn Falco? Tim sighed. You damned fool, Gray. Flynn
was still talking, all cool and callused, but for the moment at least,
Tim was able to ignore him. Flynn knew him--all of them--pretty well,
and he was suggesting some pretty rotten stuff. He really believed Tim
had gone for the advantage--taken an out to save himself financially;
i.e., stuck Jasper in the same economic hole Jasper had dug Tim
out of. Flynn
was so convincing that for a moment, Tim wondered. Did I really set
this up somehow? Hint to Jasper how badly I wanted out of the Hole?
Tim might not live there, but that didn't make it any less of a millstone
around his neck. Hell, I didn't even hint, he thought now, with
a trace of shame. I came right out and told him. He'd
been searching for an apartment in Jasper's part of town for months.
He'd wanted it--well, ever since he'd seen Jasper's. Nor
was Flynn about to let him off with minor self-recrimination. Only self-flagellation
would do. Flynn rubbed it in, the way only he could. “You're scum,
ya know that? Some kind of friend.” “Guilty,
as charged, so shut up.” But it was stupid to feel guilty. Jasper
knew what he was doing. Besides, at this point, protestations of innocence
would avail Tim not. Might as well make admissions of guilt, and get
it over with. Flynn always seem to think he had ulterior motives. You
do, most of the time. Flynn
did shut up--so effectively, in fact that the somber silence ate at
Tim's conscience. “I'm
only guilty of giving him what he wanted. Nothing wrong with that.” At
that moment, Maddy sailed in Tim's front door without so much as a knock.
Tim didn't even get a chance to say hello before she launched into him.
“Not a bad thing, maybe, if you're not the one holing up in a wreck!" Tim
could have groaned then, but it was no use going for the sympathy vote.
There was none to be had. Had that damned Jasper told everyone
they both knew? Tim said as much. “What the hell does he think he's
doing? Telling half the world? We're in escrow. Definitely a time for
silence. Legal shit and all that.” He looked pained. “Please don't
tell me you put this on Fallen.” Flynn
crossed his arms. “Not yet.” There was threat in his gaze. Overstep
the line again, and Tim's pseudonym would take a hike. He'd be denigrated
on Fallen, for the whole world to see. Tim's
world, anyway. Most of the people in town read Flynn's blog. After all,
it was almost famous--and written by a local. Tim
cleared his throat. “This was all Jasper's idea.” Silence.
Flynn didn't believe him, and Maddy's glare spoke for her. Finally,
Flynn waxed eloquent. “I can picture it now: 'I'm taking his apartment
“off his hands”'.” Maddy
sucked in a quick breath and tears sprang to her eyes. She didn't want
to believe it of Tim. “You're taking Jasper's apartment?” “It
wasn't my idea--!” “Uh-huh.”
Flynn wasn't inclined to be lenient. “Taking it off Jasper's hands,”
he explained over his shoulder to Maddy, “so he doesn't get stuck
with the lease. Kind, isn't he?” Maddy
looked appalled. Tim
wasn't good at playing victim. He went on the attack. “Gotta go. Heard
Gray say something about having to sell his priceless heirlooms. Wouldn't
want to miss out, or get in after he raises the price.” Since
they all knew Jasper had grown up in a series of cheap rentals, with
secondhand furniture and clothes, it didn't exactly raise a laugh. Tim
could guess how “Turncoat Toad” would appear in today's Fallen. There
was an element of truth in Flynn's accusations, though. If there weren't,
Tim knew he wouldn't be feeling so guilty, about taking advantage of
a friend. He gave it some careful consideration, then finally had to
admit it. He just wasn't stalwart, or noble enough, or whatever was
called for, to let an opportunity like this pass him by. With all that
accusation in Falco's face and voice, he was asking for it--and the
truth was, Tim the Toad Marchmont couldn't wait to give it to him, fist
in the face style. All the mockery left his voice as he said firmly,
“It's Gray's business--his choice, no one else's. Face it,
Falco: if Jasper wants to play loser, no one's gonna stop him. At least,
if I sublet his old place, he won't be stuck with it.” “Don't
think that'll be an issue. What happens when he figures out he's in
over his head? What then?” The
moment was ripe. Time for Jasper to stop playing victim. “Guess
he didn't tell you how he paid the back taxes, did he?” Flynn
had been wondering about that one himself. Jasper had just tossed in
the towel on yet another job. Where was he getting the money, to get
Toad off the hook? “Inheritance? From his grandfather?” Jasper didn't
have any inheritance--not that Flynn knew about. And his father had
left only debts. Toad
shook his head. “I got a call from an assay office. They assured me
all the transactions were being handled, in my name, by them.” Flynn
shifted impatiently, but Toad was out to make an impression. He focused
on Maddy first, and then Flynn. “Jasper paid the back debt, all right--in
gold.” *
* * * *
Blurb
Jasper Grey is a man with a mission, but his life is going nowhere. Now, not only does his future appear limited, but it seems he’s destined to be haunted by the ghosts of his past. The problem lies in his heritage, but he’s not as alone as he thinks.
There’s one whose destiny lies along a similar path, and whose efforts to avoid a confrontation spawn treachery. If he’s not cautious, the day will come—soon—when he and Jasper are at each other’s throats.
In the end, only one can win, and Jasper’s genes have already predicted the winner. His only hope is that a forged bond of friendship will outweigh kinship...
...and overcome his Grey Beginnings.