The Judas Line by Mark Everett Stone Read Free Book Online

flash because, even though Julian forbade Burke’s hand in any assassination attempts, my cousin hated me enough that he could not stop himself from trying.
    “What about you, Olivier?” The Professor’s deep voice startled me out of my woolgathering.
    Nodding quickly, I scanned the thick white papers in my hands, which had begun to tremble slightly. Each paper held a Word written in what I now know to be a mixture of squid ink, black hellbore and knotweed, a Botanical Magic brew. My eyes skittered over the first page, not wanting to acknowledge the black writing. In fact, for a second it seemed that there was no Word at all, just a blank page. Then it hit me like a pickaxe to the skull … the Word. It crawled right in and made itself at home in my cerebral cortex, shoving aside non-essentials like Latin and Swedish.
    Imagine someone using Vicks VapoRub on your brain … that’s what it felt like.
    Page Two: it hit me the same way—hard and fast with a mental taste of tinfoil.
    Three … four … five … Wham! Wham! Wham!
    Done. I was done and the pages fell to the bare concrete around my Air Jordans. Twelve Words. I had all twelve Words rolling around my mind and I’m pretty sure I’d lost all functional use of Romanian.
    Whoa …
    “Well?” Henri asked, grabbing my black t-shirt in one huge hairy fist.
    Okay … Risk Assessment Time. Henri’s big pug-ugly loomed into view and in my peripheral Burke and the twins were staring at me speculatively. If I copped to all twelve it would be the same as painting a Day-Glo bull’s-eye on my back and there would be no chance of dodging all of their attempts.
    Good thing lying is second nature in my Family.
    “Healing.”
    Silence. Five pairs of eyes met mine, incredulous. It was Burke who broke the tension by erupting in a full-throated belly laugh that shook his slender frame from head to toe. As if a new Word had been spoken, the Word of Mirth, it spread to my siblings quickly, doubling them over with laughter until they gasped for breath, hands to the hitching stitches in their sides.
    “Very funny, assholes,” I grumbled softly, but loud enough so they would hear and it set them to laughing again. The Day-Glo bull’s-eye began to fade. I hid my smile in the palms of my hands.
    “Oh, that’s rich,” Henri gasped. “Julian will be fit to burst. His precious prodigy can only Heal!”
    During the laugh-fest, Burke had kept his eyes on me and I think he was probably taken in like the others, but I knew my supposed deficiency wouldn’t stop him from tormenting me every chance he could. With the arrogance of six Words, he might find the balls to defy Julian and try for a kill.
    Right then I knew that someday it would come down to him and me.
    
     
    I set the pages down on my lap, stunned, confused and more than a little afraid. If what Jude, or Olivier, whoever he was, had written here was true, then what other strange, menacing magics were out there? Who was his father, Julian Deschamps, and why would he let his children kill each other off? If it was all some sort of delusion, then a madman drove my car through Oklahoma into Texas.
    “Remember, Mike, to me … all that was perfectly normal. I didn’t know any other sort of life,” Jude commented sadly, as if reading my thoughts.
    I licked my lips. “It’s unbelievable, but I saw what you did with that … that … air sprite, so I guess it’s no great stretch to … this.” I held up the envelope. “Now what?”
    “Read the story.”
    “It’s the strangest dang thing I’ve ever read, Jude … or do I call you Olivier?”
    He made a face. “Olivier Deschamps wasn’t someone you’d want to know, man. and I’m glad he’s dead.”
    “But you are Olivier Deschamps.”
    Eyes sere and barren of hope glanced my way. “For both our sakes, man, you better hope not.”
     

Chapter Six
     
    Jude
     
    Mike was shaken down to the roots. Oh, he hid it well, but I could see; we’d been friends long enough