Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) (14 page)

Evan's house kept popping into my head. Despite the black magic lectures, I was pretty sure I could count on him. My best friend was the obvious solution. He wouldn't even mind that I'd stood them up for dinner.

But I couldn't face Emily. Not yet. I'd rather live on the street, and my old solution of dying wasn't working out. For reasons that were slowly coming into focus, I was feeling better.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a fold of bills. "How much do I owe you?"

"Screw that, Cisco."

I counted out thirty-seven bucks. A tad under his usual fee. Folded in the wad of bills was a note with Milena's pink handwriting. And her address.

"You got a computer I can look someone up in?" I asked.

"Sure do." Kasper pulled out a flat phone. Large, thin, and all glass. Within a few minutes he mapped out Midtown for me.

"I gotta get me one of those," I said in awe. The future is now.

Kasper rapped me on the shoulder. "On the run and all you think about is getting a hot piece of snatch."

"Hey, she's my sister's friend." I frowned. "Was."

The biker flitted about nervously. "Shit. I'm an asshole. Sorry I brought it up."

So he'd heard about my family being killed too. "Forget it. You're doing too much already. I owe you."

He shook his head firmly. "No way. This one's on the house, broham. For old time's sake."

"You know I hate charity," I told him. "I gotta pay you back somehow."

My friend looked me in the eye. No hint of levity, philosophy, or his usual self. "You can pay me back by staying away from me and my shop. You're in the big time now, Cisco, and that's way out of my league. I don't want you coming 'round here again. If that recolor doesn't protect you, nothing will."

Welcome: worn out. Kasper opened the door to the street. I waited for a minute and watched a car pass, and my friend couldn't look me in the eye. I couldn't blame him. After I hit the sidewalk, I said, "It's just as well. There's no Corona here anyway."

Kasper forced a smile. Then he shut the door and bolted it behind me.

 

 

 

 

My stolen car was still parked on the sidewalk, but the rear windshield had been smashed with a brick. Karmic justice for the illegal parking job. Except karma had hit the wrong guy. At some point the
abuelo
I stole the car from was gonna get it back. I felt bad about that, but there was nothing I could do. I was already full up on karmic payback.

This time I got on I-95 and drove north. It was finally getting late so traffic was light. Before I knew it, I exited into a neighborhood I'd never seen before: Midtown Miami, a ritzy stretch of new construction.

Milena hadn't been kidding when she said she was living okay. Don't get me wrong—she wasn't rich. But these were swank condos in high rises, clean streets, shopping strips, and fancy restaurants. In my book, that was living.

I parked down the block from her building, a large tower of glass. The marbled lobby was impressive, but security wasn't. I strolled right past the front desk without a word. I've learned the look on your face can be as good as a key: appear like you belong and people don't ask questions.

One elevator and eighteen floors later, I knocked on her door. Milena opened up wearing a long black T-shirt. It worked as a dress because of her short frame, but hung a little too high on her wide hips and barely covered her underwear.

Holy moly. If I'd felt dead a second ago, I was fully alive now.

"Cisco?" she asked in a domestic voice. Not sleepy—it was too early for that—but relaxed.

"Hey you."

"
Ay dios mío
!" she said, noticing my once-white tank top. Where there wasn't dried blood, there was dirt and yellow stains of unknown origin, and plenty of rips and holes to boot. She pulled me inside the condo. "Are you okay?"

"You alone?" I asked, looking around nervously.

She nodded. "Let me get a look at you."

"No," I said. Milena ignored my protests and pulled my shirt off. I think she actually ripped it even more. "What happened to you?"

"I'm fine," I stressed. "At least
some
of that blood's not mine. And the scratches and bruises just look bad."

Milena had to check for herself, but even a stitched bullet wound doesn't look too scary. She nodded, concerned but satisfied. As her excitement wore off, she arched an eyebrow. Instead of worrying about my health, I got the impression she was checking me out. I couldn't blame her. I was the same Cisco Suarez she remembered except beefed up. I suddenly realized she was a hot girl and we were both half naked. I turned away.

"I've got nowhere else to go," I said, dejected. It hurt to say it. More than I thought it would. I mean, I knew I was pretty much homeless, but saying it out loud hit me hard. So much had changed in ten years. I didn't have a place in this world anymore.

"You can crash here," she said without a hint of trepidation. "As long as you need."

I shook my head. "I can't do that to you. I just need one night on your couch. One more day to figure things out."

I grabbed my shirt from her and tried to fold it. It didn't cooperate. On the third attempt, I just tossed it on the floor. The large living room had a high ceiling and a spacious balcony. The place was organized and my ratty clothes—hell my entire presence—felt like a violation.

"Nice place you got here, Milena. You can afford this on your own?"

She smiled coyly and nodded.

Seleste and Milena were always destined for bright futures. I was stupid enough to think I was too, but that's different. Seleste and Milena were great students. Smart kids. Everything a parent (or grandparent in her case) would ever want.

"You really made it, huh?" I asked with an impressed smile. Milena shot me a puzzled look. "You and Seleste always had big dreams." She turned away suddenly. It hit me too. "At least one of you made it," I amended. Cisco Suarez, the downer.

I wandered to the couch. My face tightened and I fought against the urge to cry. To give in. Manly pride fighting a not-so-manly battle. I sat down to buy myself time to recover.

It was me that had robbed Seleste of her dream. All her promise, ripped away in a puff of black magic.

Milena didn't say anything for a while. Then she sat beside me and hooked her arm around my shoulders. I flinched at her touch. At first. It wasn't that I didn't like it—I just wasn't used to it. It was strange to me, to have connections in this world. Part old, part new. But it meant something. Human beings are meant for contact. I truly believe that.

"Sometimes," began Milena in a wistful voice, "the details don't matter. The past. The things we do. The random things that happen." She sighed. It was obvious she thought about Seleste whenever I was around. I hated that I brought her that pain. "Cisco, whatever happened, whatever you did—it's okay. I can see you struggling but... it's okay."

I turned away again. What did she know? But I realized
I
was the one who didn't know how to be human anymore. In death, I'd abandoned family and friends. Mom and Dad and Seleste died too. It was Milena that had to deal with that, not me. She'd been the one who needed to move on and make hard decisions.

I used to think I was smarter than everybody else. Better even. I wasn't weird, they were buffoons. I was a natural at spellcraft, which only reinforced those beliefs. And it distanced me from my family. No matter how powerful or practiced I'd become, I couldn't save them. I couldn't save myself.

I would have given it all to have them back. My magic. My life, even. Just if they could live.

Tears welled in my eyes. I wiped my face and clenched my jaw, silently scolding myself. I didn't have time for weakness. It took all my concentration to bottle my emotions. It was a stupid moment, and I hated it, but I won out.

Milena noticed my brooding and hugged me. She didn't ask questions. She just waited with me in silence. It was comfortable. It felt like friendship. It felt like trust. And I found precious little of that these days.

The tension eased from my muscles. I wasn't wired anymore. I was still sore (there was plenty of that to go around) but relaxed. I lifted my arm and wrapped it around Milena to hug her back, and I suddenly felt self-conscious. I shouldn't have, but I did.

Here I was, with a hot girl, but it didn't feel right. I was too worried about what Em would think. How ridiculous was that? Emily was married with a daughter. I guess old hang-ups are the worst kinds.

I pulled away from the embrace. Milena sat up, slightly embarrassed, then stood abruptly. I almost said something but didn't. She disappeared down the hall, and I was relieved when she returned. She handed me a blanket and pillow and smiled at me without judgment.

It was a good look. I needed that kind of support right now. I smiled back, then lowered my eyes over her form. Her voluptuous body came with a much smaller waist than I'd remembered. The bottom of her T-shirt was caught on her hip, and we simultaneously realized she was standing there flashing me her underwear. She immediately tugged the hem down.

"Sorry," I said.

She waved me off. "No problem." Her words were quick, spoken before I'd finished apologizing.

I straightened in my seat, wanting to change the subject but having a hard time looking her in the eye. Judging by the way she shifted on her legs, she was having similar thoughts.

"You know," I said. "I saw Emily today."

Sometimes I say the dumbest things.

Milena sat down, surprisingly compassionate. "I'm sorry. I should've told you who she was married to. I just couldn't bring myself to do it after telling you about your family."

"It's not a big deal. I get it."

She nodded but I could tell she still felt bad. "Did you visit Saint Martin's?"

I pointed to the stitches on my chest. "That's where I got this."

She leaned in and pressed me down into the cushions. Her fingers traced Kasper's golden mark on the wound. "Magic?"

"Not mine," I answered groggily.

She silently ran her fingers up and down my chest. "Maybe you should show me some time."

I couldn't be sure, but Milena was bordering on flirty. It wasn't the smoothest move on my part, but exactly two seconds later I passed out.

Hey, gimme a break. How many days have you gotten shot, been bitten by an undead pit bull, trapped by a giant spider, and hunted by a Haitian voodoo gang—all after waking up in a dumpster after getting killed the night before? Sometimes I swear my life is a
Twilight Zone
episode. Even better: For all I knew, I was living and dying every day, repeating an endless
Groundhog's Day
loop. My own personal flavor of hell.

Milena had said that details didn't matter sometimes, but she was wrong. Details were what I needed. I knew that I'd been a zombie, but what kind? Serving what cause? What exactly had happened to me? And would I still be alive when I woke up?

The questions all faded away under Milena's caress, and I dreamt of many things, both living and dead.

 

 

 

 

I woke up the next day, cold as a corpse, buried under a thick blanket. Milena must've kept her AC set to arctic. I was lying lengthwise on the couch, which would've been more comfortable had it been more than a glorified loveseat. My head and legs arched over the armrests and I think there was a remote lodged into my back.

It was the most comfortable I'd been in days.

"Just in time for breakfast," said Milena in a chipper voice that hurt my ears.

I pulled the blanket away. She was behind the bar in the kitchen. I sat up, excited for bacon and omelets and biscuits. Two frozen waffles popped out of the toaster.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw my expression, then dialed her enthusiasm back a notch. "Sorry. I don't do cooking. All these nice appliances and I have no idea what to do with them."

"That's a shame," I said. "I was beginning to think you were the perfect date." I stretched to my feet and shook off the cowboy boots I still wore, then made a beeline for the kitchen. "There's nothing to a standard Cuban breakfast. Toast, a pound of butter, and a five-egg omelet."

She flicked an eyebrow. "Why not pour quick-dry cement in your arteries while you're at it?"

I rounded the corner of the bar and got a full look at Milena's backside. I froze. Her clothes weren't loose fitting anymore. A black tube top exposed her shoulders and jean shorts hugged her butt. She was showing a lot of tanned skin and it all looked good. Milena wasn't just cute or hot, she was a straight-up bombshell. Her clothes squeezed her impossibly small waist and wide hips. She had an hourglass figure like I hadn't seen before. And a butt like nobody's business.

When she turned around, my jaw literally dropped. "You have boobs."

She rolled her eyes. "You already did that bit yesterday."

"Yeah, but I actually have visual confirmation today."

I wasn't kidding. It's not that the shirt was especially low cut, it's that her ladies were generously portioned. They filled out the tube top and then some.

"Bought and paid for," she said, pressing them together and squeezing them up. She was torturing me now. Service with a smile. When I didn't retort, she laughed and bounced away with her waffles. "The kitchen's all yours, hotshot." She'd worn that getup on purpose. Maybe she wanted me to forget about Emily.

"You're seriously gonna eat that?" I asked.

"I don't have time for anything else. I need to work soon."

"Sure," I said, trying to play off my disappointment. "I need to get out of here too."

"You don't have to—"

"I should."

The food was just a distraction, I realized. A way to forget. No way was I gonna sit down and have a normal breakfast. (Never mind the fact that Milena didn't even stock real butter.) I dug in the freezer for waffles too. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

We finished our meal without conversation. I put my game face on. Milena didn't try to cheer me up. She knew what I was thinking. What I had to do. Hell, she'd probably help if she could.

"Do I have time for a quick shower?" I asked.

"Quick."

I didn't waste any time.

When I got out, I studied my wounds in the mirror. The scrapes on my arms didn't hurt anymore. The bruising had faded considerably. The stitches in my chest were peachy, but still some pain there. I wasn't exactly Wolverine or the Hulk, but considering I was upright, I was impressed.

Milena knocked and said she left something for me. Wrapped in the towel, I opened the door. She wasn't there but she'd left a plastic bag with clothes in it. I closed the door and went through the contents, surprised that everything still had price tags. She must've woken up early and gone shopping for me.

A brand new tank top, white, stylish. New jeans with a few strategic scuffs—a far cry from the damage on my current ones. She'd even stocked me with several pairs of socks and underwear. As I dressed, each piece of clothing effected a surprising change in my mood. I wasn't wearing a dead man's clothes anymore. Even better, I felt normal.

I found Milena in the living room, proud of herself.

"This is the exact same outfit I wore yesterday," I told her.

She shrugged. "It looks good on you. Sorry I didn't replace the boots. I forgot to check the size."

I chuckled and shook my head. "I never would've guessed I'd be wearing alligator boots and wife beaters."

"To be honest, you kinda rock them now." She gave me a wink. "Now come here you big dummy." I joined her on the couch and she handed me a small phone. "This is a burner. Anonymous. Prepaid minutes. It's disposable, so if you think someone's tracking the number, toss it."

"They can track these?"

"Trust me. It's a different world now."

I checked it out. It wasn't nearly as nice as her phone. It was fatter with a thicker frame, but it ran all the basic apps I needed. She showed me them and the screen she'd set up for me. She even listed her own number in the contacts under "M." I added Evan's info using the same unbreakable cipher.

While I toyed with the device, Milena got ready for work. Eventually, she grabbed a paper shopping bag with fancy handles and I walked her out. It wasn't until the elevator that I peeked inside.

"Um, Milena, why do you have thongs and stripper heels in your bag?"

She reflexively yanked it away, then sighed as she realized it was pointless. "Exotic dancer heels."

I chuckled at the joke but her face was deadpan. She wasn't kidding.

"You're a—"

"Shut up!" she yelled as the elevator door opened. An old couple recoiled, aghast at the volume. Milena stormed past them, her flip-flops snapping across the lobby floor.

"Tourette's," I explained to the elderly couple. I gave them a cartoony shrug to really sell it, then raced outside and caught up with Milena. "Look," I said. "I'm sorry. It's not my place to judge."

"You're damn right."

I nodded. "And I get it. Paying for law school or whatever, right? Like you said, the details don't matter."

She halted mid stride on the sidewalk. I almost ran into her. "Those are the wrong details, Cisco. I'm not going to law school. I'm not going to any school. Dancing is what I do to pay my bills. It's how I live. It's how I got out of Little Havana."

"But," I fumbled, not wanted to offend her but having to ask. "You and Seleste were always such good students..."

"Yeah, well, shit didn't exactly go as planned. Did it?" Her eyes flared and she spun away from me.

I followed again. "But can't you find something better?"

"Better how?" Still stomping. No eye contact.

"I... I don't know, Milena. Something a little more... A little less..."

She stopped again and flashed angry eyes at me. "More respectable? Less sleazy? Screw you, Cisco. What happened to no judgment?" She stormed away again.

"I didn't mean it like that," I said, but we both knew I had. I continued after her, feeling like an asshole. After a couple blocks, I spoke up. "What are you doing? Walking?"

"Yes," she answered. "It's only a few more blocks. Parking costs money and they give me a ride home. It's better than some customer copying down my license plate."

I nodded, and I saw it. The savvy. The toughness. What had happened to me and Seleste was forever a part of her. Everyone's damaged in some way. That's what life does to a newborn. It slowly gives and takes indiscriminately, piling on and stripping away like so many coats of paint. People are just the remnants, the left behinds. And everything considered, Milena was doing very well for herself.

"Listen," I pleaded. "Just stop one second. I don't want you to leave like this."

She slowed, huffed, and turned to me. Her eyes were daggers at the ready, but I knew I was safe.

"I didn't mean anything by it," I said. "Just took me by surprise is all. Honest."

Milena pressed her full lips together and frowned. Then she threw me a bone and nodded.

"You need a ride at least?" I asked.

"I'm fine," she said. "You've got more to worry about. Call me sometime, okay?"

I waved the phone toward her. "I will."

Real smooth, I was. Handled that revelation with all the grace of a cat with its head caught in a bag. I watched Milena walk another two blocks with a bit more bounce in her step. She put some extra shake in her ass just to taunt me. You see? She could be mean too.

I trudged back to my car and found it missing. Guess it wasn't my car anymore. Found and towed by now. The police must have come and gone. Better them finding it empty than with me behind the wheel.

I still had a few bucks for a taxi. I flagged one down, sat in the back, and dialed Evan.

"We missed you last night," he said when I announced myself.

"You told Emily?"

He took a breath. "I did. You're gonna need to see her."

I chewed my lip instead of responding. Then I changed the subject. "You didn't tell me about the infighting in Little Haiti."

"What infighting?"

"The voodoo gangs going at each other." I mulled it over. "The African connection."

"What're you talking about, Cisco? There aren't any African gangs in Miami."

I frowned. He was probably right. What did I know? But there were small populations scattered throughout the city. I thought of the anansi, the unfamiliar voodoo, and Kasper's information. I took a stab in the dark. "What about the Nigerians?"

Evan skipped a breath. "The who— How do you know about them?"

"Someone's taking out the Haitians, vying for control of Biscayne Boulevard. Remember their leader that was taken out with magic? That was me. A hit man. A thrall."

"You did that?"

"The world according to Laurent Baptiste."

"Jesus, Cisco. You talked to Baptiste?"

"Are you just gonna repeat everything I say in the form of a question? I told you I was getting to the bottom of this. What did you think that meant? Hallmark cards?"

Evan didn't make a sound, but I could practically hear him thinking it over. He knew something he hadn't told me.

"Okay," he conceded. "We need to talk. Just... not over the phone. Let's meet somewhere. Bayfront Park. You know the fountain?"

"Come on, Evan. I grew up here."

"Can you be there in half an hour?"

"I'm close enough." I hung up the phone.

I wasn't sure if this was bad, but it wasn't good. Evan had held out on me. I'd originally asked him about an African connection and he'd been mum. Now, the second I mentioned Nigerians, he wanted a covert meeting in a public place. There was something I didn't see yet.

"Hey," I called to the driver, knocking on the plastic between us. He turned down the music and looked at me through the mirror. "You get any of that?"

The driver was a black dude wearing a fisherman's hat. He pointed to the speakers. "I couldn't hear."

"Right," I said, not pressing the issue. "Looks like I have a change of plans."