Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) (24 page)

 

 

 

 

Chevalier sat on the roof of his van but hopped off when I returned. Between his stoic expression and the face paint, he was hard to read. I figured, by the slow way he approached, he was surprised I was still alive.

A lone car passed us on the road, bathing us in light for a brief moment. We stared at each other as the engine noise dissolved into the distance, leaving us abandoned once again.

"The vampire is dead?" he asked.

I clutched my wounded back and nodded.

"The bodies?"

"Burning," I said. The accelerant would make sure nothing but ashes remained of the vampire and the zombie. Our tracks were clear. With luck, or maybe with Evan Cross, the gang murders would be pinned on the bodyguard who disappeared.

"About the truce," I started to say.

The bokor smiled. With a quick snap, he produced the ceremonial knife in his hand.

I took a step back. "Actually, I was hoping we could extend our peace a little longer."

Jean-Louis Chevalier drew back his arm and flung the knife. I rolled to the side and raised my shield.

A loud squawk was interrupted by a thud. The knife had missed me. It hadn't been intended to hit. I turned to see the blade embedded in a wooden street post, a beautiful crow impaled right through its mouth.

"You had a follower," explained the bokor.

In a matter of seconds, the beautiful sheen on the feathers faded and revealed a desiccated corpse. The bird hardened and dried, looking like it had died a long time ago.

Chevalier and I blinked dumbly.

"One of yours?" he asked.

"No."

He chuckled. "Perhaps you are mistaken, Suarez." He turned and headed back to his van. He pulled out onto the Everglades street and drove off without another word.

My gaze stayed fixed on the bird. I didn't know what was left of the bokor's debt to settle, but perhaps he thought I had a few of my own to settle first.

And he might've been right. This crow—I had seen it before. Back at Martine's house, it had watched me. Picking at her eyeballs. It turned out to be a zombie.

Expertly crafted, for me to miss it. But it was more than just voodoo.

Before being dispelled, the crow had appeared robust. Beautiful. Some sort of glamour had been worked on it to hide the decay.

I'd noticed other traces of glamour back at Martine's cookhouse. Her minions had been hidden in plain sight. The old gal had learned new tricks since back in the day.

I worked my jaw as I contemplated what the crow meant. Martine had been working with Tunji, but she was a liability in the end. I didn't know if she was a party to my death, but there was some evidence that she had remained my ally.

I closed my eyes and recalled her last moments of life once more. Her strange words. When it had become apparent that I was alive and Tunji would kill her, she chanted a spell. A riddle, maybe. The crow flies true, ever and only concerned with birdfeed.

Could she have known I would see through her eyes?

I supported the bird in one hand. Before I could pull the knife free, the dried carcass crumbled into dust and bones. Most of the remains slipped through my fingers, but I palmed some of the chunks. Of interest was a rusted metal chain wrapped around the knife blade. Attached to it, a sterling silver pendant lay in my palm. I blew away the debris and unveiled a relief of Saint Martin.

Sneaky bitch.

Martine had been helping me all along. Even in death, she'd left a cryptic clue in her final moment. Even in her absence, she'd left a servant behind to find me, follow me, and wait vigilantly until the time was right, with a prize in its belly.

Martine had gifted the pendant to me when we first started our voodoo partnership. She thought it was funny, the similarity of Martin to her name. Of course, the saint has much greater importance. Martin is syncretized with the High Baron, the patron from which we both drew our voodoo powers. This was my original voodoo fetish.

In this case, however, the sterling silver pendant had a different significance. I'm generally a patient person but, given the circumstances, I jumped in the Fiat and sped off.

After my last two visits to the cemetery, I couldn't deny dreading my return. The ambushes by Bone Saints shouldn't be a worry anymore (at least not for a while), but conversing with my father, learning the things I'd done—they'd shaken me much more than gunfire ever could.

I passed the statue of Saint Martin at the entrance. It held the same visage as the one on my pendant. Even though it had been used for spellcraft, it was a Catholic symbol. My mother had appreciated that I wore it. Even in the absence of my body, my mother, I was sure, would have had it buried in my casket.

Something was in this cemetery, and it was about damn time I found out what.

I went to my grave with a shovel this time. No more worms. No more magic. Sometimes you have to do things the old-fashioned way.

After digging for hours, the shovel rapped against my coffin. The worm could only have reported life or death within. I should've realized it couldn't have seen personal keepsakes. Symbols from the family. I admit, I was curious.

When I opened the lid, a bull horn rested on a single pillow. It was brown and white and capped with metal at both ends. It would've appeared entirely plain except for the gold plating running along its length. Ornate pictographs of objects and figures were etched in the precious metal. The symbols defied explanation.

I'd been expecting a musical horn or something. Curious indeed. And I think there's a saying about curiosity.

I swallowed nervously and picked up the Horn of Subjugation. I could've sworn it hummed.

I sighed and studied the large pile of dirt beside the hole in the ground. I knew Tunji's death hadn't completed my business, no matter how much I wished it so. I'd at least figured I was in a place where I could slow down and breathe. Reflect. I thought I could take time to put the pieces back together.

Yeah, right. My life was a series of loose ends.

There was no telling what the Horn was capable of, but I knew it spelled danger. Just because I had finally recovered it didn't mean the trouble would stop coming my way. In fact, the Horn would probably attract it. The smart play was to rebury the artifact and forget all about it.

I grunted and tucked the Horn in my lap. In its place on the white pillow, I gently set down my Saint Martin pendant. It was meant to be buried with me. It probably had been until Martine dug it up and hid the artifact. I knew, since I was alive again, that my mother would have preferred I keep the pendant, but that wasn't me anymore. I had to bury the old Cisco Suarez.

I was a loner now. A black-magic outlaw.

Yup, just a few seconds ago, I thought I was through the worst of it. Now, I knew it was just beginning. That was okay with me. Maybe it was time I finally did the world some good.

With a checkered past and a decade of bad deeds, I had a lot to atone for.
He walks alone but always has a home.
The streets of Miami were my new home, and I had plenty of walking left to do.

 

 

 

 

Writing a book is a solitary venture most of the time, but I couldn't have done it without help. Special thanks to City of Miami Police Captain Dan Kerr, Deputy Commander, Criminal Investigations Section. I took liberties with some details but he kept me (mostly) honest. Thanks to my editor, Philip Newey, who saved me from featuring a "colander" of whiskey in one scene. (I swear, I usually know what words mean.) And, of course, I need to give props to James Egan. Judge my books by his covers. Please.

 

 

 

 

I'm Domino Finn, hardened urban fantasy author and contributor to several award-winning video games. This is the first book in the Black Magic Outlaw series, but more are on the way.
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Shadow Play
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