Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) (18 page)

A door slammed behind me and I materialized within the meeting room. A seal of red flashed around the seam of the door, then faded out. It was invisible, but we could all feel it. This room was locked down. No one else was getting inside.

I turned to the central table, taking in the stunned occupants, the leadership of Haitian voodoo in Miami. I smiled and tapped my gun on the door.

"Looks like we have a little time to talk."

 

 

 

 

At first, nobody moved. That's how shocked everybody was. Two men, two bodyguards, and dead silence.

Max interrupted the lull, as I should've guessed. She had a temper and she hated me. After our last scuffle, I didn't blame her. She marched around the table until I pointed the gun at her. I didn't think it could kill her after last night, but she hesitated. Cotton stuffing or not, the bullets would hurt.

Still, she had something inside there, maybe even a heart, because she lifted her staff aggressively.

"Stand down!" snapped Laurent Baptiste, thrusting to his feet.

Max obeyed.

Laurent and Max appeared much as I'd last seen them, except the bodyguard looked as healthy as ever. I guess I couldn't cry foul considering I'd been shot too. A smirk played across her face. She'd been waiting for this reunion.

The other two in the room were new. Namadi Obazuaye had flinched when I first entered, but otherwise had remained calmly seated. He was slightly older and overweight, with the kind of stocky frame that held strength. He watched me carefully with striking eyes.

The single flinch at gunpoint was impressive. His bodyguard hadn't even given me that much. Like the community leader himself, the bodyguard waited, supreme confidence on his face. I could see why. In fact, I now understood why Namadi didn't need a contingent of security today.

The bodyguard was an imposing man. The tallest in the room. The broadest. The most still. Besides a flash of recognition, his face was stone. His arms rested over his barrel chest, casually gripping large curved hooks, nearly full circles, in each hand. He wore a set of strange armor, metal plates on his shoulders and chest. His boots, even, were made of metal and extended into pointed tips over his knees.

His size and dress weren't the worst parts. Don't get me wrong. Those were scary. But the thing that stood out most about the bodyguard, to people like me who know these sorts of things, was that he wasn't human.

That's not to say I knew what he was. An ogre, maybe (although I'd never seen one before). The man didn't look especially dim-witted, but it was my best guess at the moment.

I turned to Namadi. A plain man with a curious smile. He didn't look like a mage but, if he had a bodyguard like that in his employ, he knew a trick or two. Walking around with skull paint was one thing, but I've learned that the ones who hide their skills the best, the ones who appear the most normal, are the most dangerous.

Periodic bouts of muffled shouting exploded outside the safe room. Guards banged against the door and argued with each other about how to get in. Most of it wasn't in English. The guard who had sealed the door wouldn't be able to open it, otherwise an intruder could force him to do so. I smiled at my fortune. Luck was better than cleverness, and using the Saints' defenses against them was a masterstroke.

"Bravo,
blanc
," announced Laurent coolly. It didn't surprise me to see him talking instead of fighting. I was, after all, the only one in the room with a gun. "You've succeeded in securing an audience with me."

I scoffed. "What's the matter? No snakes today?"

Laurent smiled. "She will need to be replaced, unfortunately. As will my security staff."

"Kids with guns, you mean."

Namadi showed Laurent his displeasure. The leader of the Bone Saints cleared his throat and attempted to curtail his anger, but it was seeping through like a leaking dam. To his credit, his voice remained even.

"You think you have accomplished the impossible," he chided. "But getting in this room is only the second most impossible obstacle."

"And the first?"

His smile vanished. "Getting out."

Yup, I'd walked right into that one. I sniggered and pointed the pistol at him.

"I could kill you," I told him. "Maybe I should. But believe it or not, I'm not here seeking your audience." The gun's aim slid to the Nigerian. "Namadi, I presume?"

Strong brows arched over his eyes, tightening the skin on his bald head. "It is Mr. Obazuaye to you."

"Let's keep things pronounceable. Maybe I should just call you Asan?"

The mask on his face fluttered. It was so fast I almost missed it. I knew then he was guilty, no question about it.

Namadi turned slightly in his seat to his bodyguard behind him. The large man only moved his eyes for a moment before returning them to me.

"What is this?" demanded Laurent.

The Nigerian put his palm out to silence him. For a businessman with no gang affiliation, Namadi was a confident man. "And what, pray tell, shall I call you?"

"It's Cisco Suarez," I answered. "But you already know that, Namadi."

"Why would I?" he grumbled. He turned to Laurent. "How do you know this man?"

Max took one step closer to me. I swung my aim to her, and she backed off with a sly smile. "He's been attacking us. A servant, but an adept one."

I spoke through clenched teeth. "That's over. You hear me? I'm nobody's fixer. If you weren't so bloodthirsty, you'd see I'm trying to help you."

Max's expression didn't soften, but I saw the gears turning in Laurent's head. I may have killed his older brother, but he knew he had other enemies.

Namadi's deep voice rumbled over my thoughts. "Mr. Suarez, what is your business with me?" The man pulled his chair closer to the table and leaned into crossed hands.

"Business?" I laughed. "This isn't business. This is payback. But first I want to know why."

Namadi's eyes narrowed. "Why what?"

"Why you killed me!" I screamed. "My family!" I stepped closer to the table and brought the pistol in line with his head. "Why you've kept me as a slave for ten fucking years."

His bodyguard edged closer, standing right behind Namadi. That wouldn't be close enough to stop a bullet. The Nigerian and I threw hard stares at each other. The commotion outside increased again, but they weren't even close to breaching the wards. After a minute, they quieted.

Namadi took a breath. "I do not know of these things."

"Bullshit. I saw through Martine's eyes, Asan. You killed her and you tried to kill me."

Baptiste slammed his hand on the table in a show of force. "This is an outrage!" He eyed the Nigerian but didn't dare get close to the bodyguard. "You are this man's master? You, who do not serve the Barons of Death?"

"I am a businessman," insisted Namadi. "I take only a scholarly interest in the loa, but I am not capable of doing what this man says. I do not practice." He turned to me in earnest. "If I did this thing to you, why would I kill you?"

"Because you were losing control."

"I never
had
control. What benefit would I get from doing so? Do not listen to his nonsense, Laurent."

He was desperate. Shaking. It was a far cry from his earlier confidence, but facing death will do that to a man. As his armor cracked, I sensed something else about him. A darkness. Familiar maybe. If Namadi didn't know magic, I'd eat my boots.

"I was your hit man," I said. "Don't play dumb because you're surrounded by the people you ordered me to kill."

"Impossible!" he protested. "Peace! I want peace within our communities. The gang violence must be contained and kept out of sight. I run community centers. I sit on the Board of Latin American Leaders. I head two nonprofit organizations and work with the city to spearhead redevelopment of poor communities."

I remembered what Evan had said about working with Namadi and extrapolated. "You mean you have city commissioners in your pocket."

That gave him pause and I knew I was right. The city commissioners. Evan's bosses. They were all on Namadi's payroll.

His eyes flushed. "I am
not
interested in your perspective. My aspirations for the community are large. I have attained much, but even after it all, there can be no true progress without a marked reduction in crime. A united front. A gang war destroys everything I've worked for."

The man was passionate. Even worse, he was convincing. But I could feel the black magic clinging to him. The aura he fought to hide. And there was something else...

Max's staff crashed into the small of my back. I buckled, stumbling forward. Another swing came down to my head and I continued my fall, diving away and dodging the attack.

"Max!" warned Laurent, but the woman was bloodthirsty. She feinted and came at me on my weak side, knowing my right arm wasn't armored. I absorbed the blow with my shoulder and charged into her, shoving her into the wall with a painful crash.

The other three men were spectators, with Namadi and Laurent shouting to stop the violence.

Max brought her knee into my side. The pain was welcome compared to her weapon. I grabbed the staff and tried to wrest it free, but she held tight with both hands. In a second, the staff was hugging me into her instead of pushing away.

Damn. The bitch was stronger than me too.

Instead of fighting it, I spun out of the lock and tried to drop underneath it. Max was quick and had expected that. She leaned down with me. My head, now facing her, pressed into her chest.

Max smiled gleefully.

I couldn't move at all, and she probably could've snapped my neck from that position. Fortunately, my right arm had shot up while I had attempted to drop to the floor. Her eyes widened when she realized my pistol was pressed against her throat, stabbing into the soft skin under her chin.

I pulled the trigger.

I didn't know if Max was alive or dead, or what magic protected her, but I did know one thing: her head wasn't stuffed with cotton. Regular old brains splattered from the exit wound on top of her head. A mist of blood sprayed the wall and rained down over me.

I sucked it in, feeling its strength. "And then there were three," I said.

Max's lifeless body crumpled next to me as I stood. Laurent Baptiste was shocked. Namadi backed into his bodyguard, who stood firm. Unimpressed.

"Please, Mr. Suarez," pleaded Namadi. "There is no call for violence."

I approached the table slowly. "But that's what this is all about, isn't it? Violence in the streets." His eyes flipped between the gun and my face. "I should've known you were involved with the city commissioners. It fits in with the redevelopment projects. This isn't about peace—it's about starting a gang war. About making a bunch of politicians rich after they buy out depressed properties that plummet in value due to violent crime."

Finally, Laurent was convinced. He hadn't believed Namadi had the magic, but he believed in a force of nature even more corrupting: greed.

"You sold me out?" cried Laurent. "You ordered the death of my brother?" His eyes were bloodshot and he shook with anger, but there was a tinge of helplessness in his voice too. Of the hurt done to him. He was a cold-blooded gang leader, but I felt sorry for him.

"Why not profit together?" he continued, squaring off against Namadi. "Instead, you call out for peace while whispering for death."

"I do not know this man," swore Namadi, finally rising to his feet. "It is a trick. How does he know this, Tunji?"

The bodyguard placed his hands on Namadi's shoulders and glared at Baptiste, daring him to attack. Nobody moved. After a few tense moments, Tunji the bodyguard sighed. With a quick motion, he crossed his hands and pulled the curved blades apart, slicing Namadi's head clean off. The poor man's arms were still in the air in the middle of making a point.

 

 

 

 

"
Bondye!
" exclaimed Laurent, moving away. I wasn't too proud to back off either.

The Nigerian bodyguard scraped his two blades together, more focused on them than us. When Tunji finally spoke for the first time, it was in an offhand fashion. "What happened to you, Francisco?"

I cocked my head. I'd heard that voice before. His tone wasn't just familiar, but familiar with me.

"I was told you were killed," he continued. "I had my doubts." Tunji turned to me and his teeth flashed in the light.

His teeth. His metal teeth. Tunji was the man under the cloak. The one who'd killed Martine.

In a sickening crunch, the beast sank his teeth into Namadi's open neck. He chewed and slurped. It was gross. (Trust me. I'm a necromancer and I almost puked.)

"I'll have your head!" cried Laurent, and he charged the bodyguard.

Just like in Martine's vision, Tunji was strong and fast. He chucked Namadi's corpse aside as if it were a child's toy and thrust his knee forward. The pointed spike pierced Laurent's stomach and protruded from his back. The houngan splayed forward and wrapped his arms around the larger man, leaning on him for support.

And then a curious thing happened.

The voodoo priest deflated. Shriveled until he was nothing more than a sack of dried skin. Laurent Baptiste, after casting off his snakeskin, appeared behind the bodyguard. He flung white powder across Tunji's unarmored back. Flesh melted as if exposed to acid.

Tunji roared and blurred away. It looked similar to my shadow trick, only he stayed completely solid. He did it with pure speed. In a blink, the bodyguard had created distance between him and his opponent.

"Do you not think I know what you are now, Tunji Malu?" mocked Baptiste, readying another fist of powder. "The dead man used the name Asan. He thought it was Namadi, but it is you, isn't it? Asanbosam, a demon of West Africa. Strong. Fast. Impervious to attacks." The houngan laughed now. "But not so immune to my poisons, yes?"

An asanbosam. That's what Martine had referred to. Not a who but a what. First a trickster spider and then this terrifying abomination. Asanbosam are African vampire nomads. I didn't know much about them, but I knew this was bad. I wasn't prepared for this. As Laurent attacked, I raised my gun and fired.

Tunji Malu's metal hook flashed and deflected the bullet. The pistol clicked empty on the second pull of the trigger.

He threw the second blade at the houngan. The arm holding the powder was sliced open. Laurent grunted as a cloud puffed to the floor.

Tunji lunged, again almost too fast to see. Laurent whispered an incantation and thrust his other hand forward. A loud clang deafened me as the open palm halted the asan in his tracks, from blur to solid. The two men stood at arm's length, frozen in place. Baptiste's open hand rested on the bodyguard's breastplate.

When I'd woken up in the dumpster yesterday, my chest had ached dreadfully. "Stopped my heart" was how Baptiste put it. Now I saw the same death spell firsthand, perfectly executed against a physically superior opponent.

Tunji grunted, and both their heads lowered to the point of impact. "That hurt," he said.

Laurent's jaw dropped and he backed away. With unnerving speed, the bodyguard slashed his blade in a horizontal arc.

They were both so fast, I wasn't sure what had happened. Tunji and Laurent stood facing each other, two meters apart. They saw each other for enemies, each beaming with hatred and the promise of vengeance.

Tunji sneered at the other man.

Laurent merely snickered. "The High Baron refuses to dig my grave," he said with ease.

Then Laurent Baptiste gurgled and wavered.

The houngan had a faraway look, like he was in shock, and took a few off-balance steps before falling backward into a chair. His arms fell limply to his side, and his head yawned back. A clean slit opened in the man's neck. His head folded over the back of the chair, spine half severed, but still connected.

It wasn't a clean beheading, but it was a killing blow. The voodoo high priest slunk deeper into the chair, each breath ending with a heave, each beat of his heart spurting more blood from his neck.

"It was all you," I whispered, suddenly promoted to Captain Obvious.

The asanbosam recovered his second blade and scraped them together, wicking off the excess blood.

"You see what you've done with this crisis of conscience?" he asked. "Namadi was only a pawn, but quite useful nonetheless."

"You served him."

"I serve Nigeria. As did you."

"I was a thrall!"

"Were you?" he asked, licking his lips. "Black magic compelled you. Soiled your mind. Yet here you are..."

I swallowed. The asanbosam must have been able to exert some influence over his victims. Compulsion was common to many vampires. I understood the connection. "Namadi Obazuaye was just your thrall. Not a zombie, but not himself."

"A true countryman. He furthered our interests until you exposed him." He kept talking about "us" like I was with him.

"And Baptiste?" I asked.

Tunji shrugged. "The man was full of surprises, but in the end, he was only a pretender. A perversion. A Westerner who siphoned the soul of my culture."

The guards outside banged the door, but without their previous fervor, as if they knew it was too late to fulfill their duty.

"What now?" asked Tunji. "Shall I take your head as well? Or would you return to service?"

The word tasted like dirt. "Service?"

"You are no fool, Francisco. You are more powerful than ever with us."

"I still am."

Tunji grunted deeply, causing his chest and shoulders to shudder. "You realize you are not invincible, yes?" The beast made his way around the table to me. "You can die, shadow witch. I gutted you once before."

Flashes popped into my head. Of me dying. Once. Twice. Of my family. Star Island. My childhood home. Martine's cookhouse. I couldn't separate reality from my horrifying imagination. I'd never be the same.

"Just tell me one thing," I said.

Tunji Malu paused his approach and crossed his arms.

"Just one question," I pleaded. "Why me?"

He smiled. "The Horn, Francisco. I need the Horn of Subjugation."

Ten years ago, when I was just another hustler looking to make a buck, whipping up potions with Martine and thinking voodoo was just a game, I must have stumbled on the Horn of Subjugation. I was young. Dumb. Ambitious. Frankly, it sounded like something I'd do.

"The one you killed Martine for?" I spat. "I don't have it. I've never had it."

The large man nodded. "Considering your position, I'm inclined to believe you're being truthful. But consider mine: you don't remember anything from the last decade. Your word is useless."

Who knew the West African vampire could present such a succinct argument? I pressed my teeth together and snarled. He spoke of my death as a minor inconvenience.

Tunji Malu took a step closer to me. "The Horn is linked to you, Francisco. It calls for you. You found it once. You can find it again. If you bring it to me, I'll spare your life."

And that confirmed what I already knew. He didn't have it. He didn't know where it was. After ten years of looking, working with Martine and the Bone Saints and likely every other death animist he could, even after forcing me into undead service, the asan had still come up empty.

Which presented quite the little mystery to me. Granted, at the moment the concern was purely academic. Tunji's curvy knives were half as interesting but exponentially more urgent. I think that's a saying somewhere: don't bring an inscrutable problem to a knife fight.

I knew the vampire could move fast—I'd watched it kill three people—but I had more defensive magic than Martine and (hopefully) the others. I could cast plenty on the fly. I just wasn't sure it would be enough.

"I wouldn't even know where to start looking," I told him.

He nodded. "I thought you'd say that."

I recalled Martine's initial attack. Her undead had tried to hold him to the ground. Smart move considering his abilities. Tunji was too quick to be let loose. But the asan had been too much for the dumb strength of the undead. He'd ripped her servants from the ground and rent them apart.

I'd like to see him try that with a shadow.

Tunji lunged at me, but before he could get going, a shadow tendril from underneath the table locked around his foot. He stretched for me like a bungee jumper and the hook whizzed dangerously close.

I hopped back and flicked off the light switch. The results were unimpressive. It was dingy in here at best—not dark enough to blind anyone—but at least I had some pockets of darkness to work in.

Tunji ceased struggling with his binding and turned to me. I phased into the floor and launched toward him. Familiar with my powers, he guessed I would slip past him and attack from behind. Hey, it's my move. He spun around to face behind him. But he was too fast for his own good.

I skipped out of the shadow early, attacking him head on. Except Tunji's defensive maneuver had now exposed his back to me.

The tendril around his leg vanished as I summoned the force into both hands and rammed into the acid burns on his back.

The vampire rocketed into the far wall and roared. A hand of darkness emerged from the wall and latched onto his shoulder. I mustered as much force as I could but still failed to force Tunji to his knees. Immobilizing him would have to be enough.

Tunji swiped his hooks in wide arcs to keep me at bay, but I wasn't going for him. I grabbed the base of the drawn mini-blind from the window beside him and ripped it from the wall. Sunlight flooded over the corner of the room and bathed the vampire in warm light.

I didn't know what I expected. Besides weakening the shadow hand that held him, he kicked me in the gut for my trouble.

I crumpled to my knees and instinctively threw my arm over my head. His blade clanged against my newly fortified tattoo. Blue light blinded him and he hissed, but he spun his circle blade as he pulled away, slashing the inner, unprotected part of my forearm.

I recoiled and he broke free from the shadow magic. I rolled away, trying to get back to the shadow. Back to safety.

He was fast. I ducked under the table as his heavy blade punctured it. He swiped again but I kicked a chair into him. I scooted back on my ass, still in sunlight.

Before his next attack came, I scooped Baptiste's white powder from the floor and blew it in his face. It was a lucky shot and wholly unexpected—the vampire even breathed some of the deadly powder in through his mouth.

Tunji howled and spun away, slicing a piece of the table off. I made it out of the sun and slipped backward, resting against the far wall. No more windows.

The former bodyguard spit out bile and blood, but he came at me again. The type of guy who doesn't take no for an answer.

"What did you think?" I challenged. "You'd kill us all and walk away?"

He closed in and I saw one of his eyes had fused shut.

"I didn't kill them," he said, coughing, but calmly. "
You
did."

He brought both hooks above his head and forced them down. I easily sidestepped the attack, but it wasn't meant for me. He pulled his swing away and struck the warded door.

Both hooks buried into the cheap wood, one of them slicing through a metal bar of the security door. A blinding flash of red exploded into the asan, but he withstood the magic and heaved both doors off their hinges at the same time. The metal gate fell away, molten and bent from the destructive blast. The warded door remained undamaged from the directional magic, but Tunji's two blades were planted in it. He sliced and diced with his knives, splintering the wood to pieces and freeing his weapons, still glowing orange from the residual heat.

Neat trick.

But it had cost the vampire. He didn't look so hot anymore. His dark skin was coated with whitened ash. He breathed heavily. But I suddenly realized it wasn't him I needed to worry about anymore.

Jean-Louis Chevalier burst into the room with two zombies and a gunman.

"Assassin!" yelled Tunji, sinking to his knees and pointing a finger squarely at me. "He killed them all!"

Something told me the screaming mob crying for my head wouldn't listen to reason.

A shadow limb swiped at the gunman's hand. My magic doesn't have the manual dexterity to manipulate a weapon like that. I settled for knocking it to the floor. At the same time, the bokor spit green liquid from his mouth, a deluge of projectile vomit aimed right at me. I phased through it, but only a few feet till I hit sunlight. There, I made a break for the window. One of the zombies grabbed my ankle and tripped me.

The thrall held me down in sunlight. I reached for my whistle, but Jean-Louis Chevalier was wearing his silver gauntlets. Right here, in his proximity, I was unlikely to hijack his servants. The bokor smiled and took a swig from a glass vial, ready to regurgitate again.

That's when I noticed the zombie holding me down sported cheap sunglasses.

Breaking Chevalier's connection with his pet wasn't happening. But tricking the undead lizard brain was an easy bet. The shadow flashed, and the zombie saw things in a new light. I was his bokor, on the ground, and Cisco was standing over me. The zombie released me and growled, then tackled the new Cisco Suarez.

Freed, I sprang to my feet. Over my shoulders I caught the hilarious image of Chevalier struggling against his own servant, a baffled expression on his face.

Before I went through the window, I locked eyes with Tunji Malu. I think he was impressed.

There's something about a twenty-foot drop that's educational. Namely, it displays how frail the human body is. I shook the haze away and rolled in the grass, bullets thudding next to me.