Black Magic Outlaw: Books 1 - 3

by Domino Finn

  "The ritual is entrenched," spat the vampire. "I can finish it."

  The entire scene flickered and faded slightly. "What's going on?" I asked the wraith.

  "The spirit is breaking apart. There's not much time."

  The ghost of Jaja stared passively at the wall he had lodged into, barely reflecting on active events anymore.

  "Keep him going," I hissed.

  The glowing blue figures ceased grappling as they overpowered me. The fire left my eyes. Killing the obeah man had been my safeguard against the black magic. Or so I had hoped. But Tunji was right. The ritual's power was present. It was there to be shaped, already malleable. Anyone with a cheap reference spell book could've closed the curse's loop. And what Tunji lacked in voodoo expertise, he made up for in natural vampiric ability.

  As I lay dying, I saw it. The buildup of shadow. Of true darkness.

  It wasn't just a manifestation. I'd done those hundreds of times and knew this was something deeper. Inner.

  It was the black spell.

  The orb of shadow tore through time and space to consume my body. It seeped into every cut and open wound. It crept into my nostrils and under my eyelids and between my muttering lips, swallowing my whispers whole.

  The elemental jerked away. Tunji rushed his magic in a panicked flurry. But the darkness didn't wait.

  An ancient language spilled from Cisco Suarez's dying lips, and the darkness disappeared inside my body like it was never there. Only once it was gone, so was I.

  Chapter 28

  The corpse lay in the center of the pentagram, devoid of life and undeath alike.

  "What just happened?" I asked.

  The Spaniard's reply was reverent. "You cast this on yourself, brujo."

  "No way."

  "You were dying," he insisted. "Losing control. You couldn't fight them anymore. This was your only possible counter."

  I stared in horror at Tunji Malu's confused features. The vampire pounded on the corpse's chest. Shook its shoulders.

  What happened to me wasn't his doing.

  "Did you kill him?" asked the elemental.

  "I'm not sure," answered Tunji, "but there's still time."

  The vampire continued the ritual as the entire scene flickered again. The spirit of the obeah man was weakening. We watched the horrific scene until the Spaniard broke the silence.

  "You beat the vampire to the punch. Died on your own terms. Under your own spellcraft. A death, yes, but a reversible one."

  I shook my head. I didn't have that kind of power. "You did this to me," I swore. "I was cursed by the Horn."

  The wraith didn't speak, eyes fixated on the vestiges of the ceremony. I couldn't watch it anymore. I was dead, anyway.

  Besides, I'd gotten the answer I wanted. The black spell that stained my soul. Instead of succumbing to my injuries, before allowing the ritual to complete, I'd cast a deep death spell on myself. The Wings of Night. The price for such spellcraft was my life, but it was a life stolen from the grip of Tunji Malu.

  The vampire still had my body, of course. The zombification curse and fiendish compulsions were hooked into me. So the Covey still created their zombie. I was animated. Compelled. I became their formidable puppet, but that's all I was.

  Tunji never had my memories. My motives. He'd never managed to achieve his primary aim: recovering the Horn of Subjugation. And as powerful as his pull on me was, I was a puppet dangling from frayed strings. The battle with the voodoo high priest finally broke the deep death spell. Cisco Suarez woke from his long sleep. The zombification curse withered under my body's newfound life.

  Except I was a man forever changed. The memory of my time as a thrall was gone, but the evidence remained. The enchanted tattoos. The hardened skin and ability to heal. And, of course, the trail of dead ghosts who—just like me—wanted revenge.

  "Let him go," I told the wraith, referring to the fading spirit of the obeah man. "I don't need to see any more."

  I averted my eyes from the bloodbath and fixated on the pile of confetti on the floor. The entrails of the dragon beast. They were literal scraps of colored paper now. And where the animal had disintegrated, a larger piece of paper. Not a scrap, but one carefully folded to exact specifications.

  I kneeled beside the origami figure of a dragon, highlighted in dying blue light. I'd seen something like it before. The paper rose in the office in City Hall.

  The Spaniard extinguished the alternate reality and left us in darkness. Jaja faded away without so much as a whimper. I remained motionless as my mind raced.

  The shadows over the Covey lifted, shining my persecutors in a brilliant light. Tunji Malu, the asanbosam. Jaja, the obeah man. Both dead. Tyson Roderick, the volcanic elemental. And Rudi Alvarez, the paper mage. Both very much alive.

  The elemental was a strange connection. I still couldn't figure out his interest in human affairs, much less how to kill him for good. But if Rudi Alvarez was a mage himself, one with firsthand involvement in my death, then he was once again a priority.

  And it didn't matter how much damn security he had.

  I marched outside to my truck without a word. With the Horn in my possession, my companion was always with me. Once I had the pickup on the road, the Spaniard materialized behind me.

  "I underestimated them," I said softly. "I thought, without the Horn, they wouldn't hurt me. But the meeting was a ruse. Both of us were fishing for information, only they were willing to go much further for it. I was a fool to go alone then."

  I took the bridge to the MacArthur Causeway and headed back to the city. The traffic was light but not barren. Nightlife in Miami thrives until dawn.

  "So they picked us off one by one," I explained. "Me. Then the people I knew. They kept Martine around because they thought she was helping them—she was the one that had contacted the buyers in the first place. Except she hid the Horn as well. Maybe they thought she would go for it one day. Lead them to it. But she never did, and once I was back she was a liability and quickly killed." I worked my jaw as I pondered my enemies.

  My companion recognized the determination building within me. "What is it, brujo?"

  "There's another Covey member we didn't see. One who perhaps didn't attend because he's a much more public figure."

  The wraith's glowing eyes narrowed. "And you wish to take him on."

  "You're damn right."

  "He won't be alone," he warned.

  "Don't worry, Spaniard. Neither am I."

  A beat of apprehensive silence. "And what if there are too many of them? What if your poltergeist visits you again?"

  "Then we work that into the playbook." I glowered at my companion. He was losing his nerve for a straight-on fight. He feared confronting a foe while bound to the Horn. "Maybe," I said, considering, "we could use some help."

  To punctuate the statement, a rockabilly artist suddenly crooned over the speakers. The haunt in my truck was back. Defeated, but still free of the Murk and the wraith's influence. I yanked the aftermarket radio from its slot, tore it free from the wires, and tossed the radio out the window. It bounced on the asphalt in our wake.

  "Your time will come too," I growled at the ghost.

  Eventually we parked outside a quiet Little Havana home. The same one we'd visited earlier in the day. The home of the rogue santero. It was generally ill-advised for killers to return to the scene of their crime. But I was a necromancer, too, and I had a body to prep.

  Sneaking in was easy. The biggest danger was that somebody had heard the fatal gunshot and called the police. The lack of police presence and crime-scene tape told a different story. A story of a poor neighborhood where everybody kept to themselves despite living inches away. The sounds of struggle in the basement hadn't alerted anyone. Nobody knew or cared that the santero was dead.

  I examined his corpse. He had a hole on the right side of his head. A bigger one on the left where the bullet had exited. I went through his things until I found a hoodie that would hide most of th
e damage.

  As I prepped the dead man, the wraith stood over me, watching my process.

  "It is just a body, brujo. It will be of little help."

  "Didn't you ever do this?"

  "I preferred to direct my spells... inward."

  I shrugged. "Well, you don't know what you're missing. Sure, he's just an extra body, but that might be exactly what we need. Going up against an elemental and a mage, why take chances?"

  "You are resolved to go on the offensive?"

  "I always have been. My friend Evan said the commissioner's holed up at his house. His address happens to be a matter of public record."

  "They'll be ready for us."

  I turned to him and scoffed. "Nobody in Miami can be ready for the two of us combined."

  The apparition sighed thoughtfully. "And have you ever considered, brujo, that bringing me to them might be exactly what they want you to do?"

  I stopped for a moment. It was a terrifying thought, but my mind was set.

  I pulled the silver dog whistle from my belt pouch. It was a spellcraft fetish, a way to focus the Intrinsics into something unified and strong. The whistle was silent to human ears, of course, but not to the dead. Not to those drawn to my brand of voodoo.

  I blew into it, and the santero's face twitched.

  Chapter 29

  Rudi Alvarez lived in a spacious estate in Pinecrest, a recently incorporated boutique neighborhood in southern Miami. Large lots, jungle growth along the secluded streets—it's a lavish resident lifestyle unlike any other. Pinecrest isn't a city, it's a "village." See what I mean? Saying Rudi Alvarez was locked down here was like banishing someone to a beach in Tahiti.

  Not that "locked down" inferred a fortified compound or anything. It was a large estate with a main residence and several supporting buildings. The grounds were the size of a small park, with the flora and fauna to match. But there wasn't a police presence. From outside the metal bars of the large Victorian fence, this was just another peaceful Pinecrest home. It was when I peered between the trees lining the property that I saw more afoot.

  The dustup at City Hall had been played down as vandalism, but Tyson Roderick knew better. I didn't see him around, but his personal security team was discreetly stationed throughout the yard and the old-style brick manor. My guess was they didn't come cheap, but you don't always get what you pay for. The predawn hour was filled with shadow, yet the guards were lackadaisical.

  A man patrolling the perimeter stepped by me, just inches away. I wrapped my arm around his neck and dragged him to the floor, letting up only once he went limp. I hid in the bushes with the sleeping guard, watching the house for activity. When the front door opened, I tensed.

  Kita Mariko stepped out and strolled to her car. Alone. I realized with relief that she was oblivious to my presence. I'd just stumbled upon a moment. A secret rendezvous between Rudi and his chief of staff. I wondered about the off hour. From what I'd seen, Kita had rebuffed Rudi's attempts at a fling. Had she finally caved?

  The woman inched her car along the driveway and security opened the gate for her. The large door swung inward over the asphalt and was locked securely after the car drove off. That seemed to be the whole show, but I waited for an encore just in case. After a while I figured no one else would be exiting the manor.

  I considered my approach. The yard was large and picturesque, a green lawn lined with bushes and gardens and a pond. I could use all of it. A glass greenhouse and brick shed ran along the far fence. Curated paths of stone dotted the grass, lined with blue accent lights that drew stylistic shadows on the ground. Yellow butterflies flitted back and forth, and colorful flowers surrounded the house.

  It was all a little too perfect. If I wasn't an animist, I wouldn't have put my finger on it.

  I waited for a butterfly to wander within reach. It was snatched up in a tendril of shadow and hand-delivered to me via spellcraft. Only what I held wasn't a butterfly, it was a crumpled piece of folded yellow paper. An origami sentinel. The human guards were the opening act. These were the real lookouts.

  I could've orchestrated something crude, like directing the santero to bang against the front gate. That would focus the attention away from me, but it would also put the security team on full alert. For now, I wanted to be subtle. (Believe me, that's a rare impulse.) The shadows got me here. I wanted to see how far they took me.

  I phased into the darkness and slid to the nearest patch of bushes. When I materialized, I kept my head down and drew the shadow around me like a blanket. Rinse and repeat. Sometimes keeping things simple is best. And like I said, the security team wasn't doing their best work. Two crumpled scraps of paper and a knocked out guard later, and I was in position near an open window. When the coast was clear, I made a run for the manor.

  The staff inside was asleep or elsewhere. A quick pass of the house led me through the kitchen and entertaining quarters. I passed a grand fireplace, made my way up the stairs, and found the bedroom at the end of the hall. The man inside was snoring, so I let myself in and locked the door behind me.

  Weird. This wasn't a bedroom, it was an office. Rudi Alvarez was slumped over his desk, drooling on his keyboard. The low wattage table lamp beside him was still on.

  First I made sure we were alone in the room. Then I peeked outside the open window. Past the first floor roof, a guard below strolled by with a yawn. I quietly drew the curtain shut.

  I paced to the city commissioner and spun his chair with my alligator boot. The politician recoiled when he saw me. I put the palm of my hand on his chest and held him in the seat.

  "Good morning, Commissioner Alvarez. I don't believe we've met."

  His tired eyes strained to focus on me. When they did, there was no recognition.

  "What is this?" he demanded.

  I leaned in and clamped my hand over his mouth. "You're gonna want to keep it down, Rudi."

  He nodded and I removed my hand. He wiped his eyes and ran his perfectly manicured fingers through his full head of black hair. Sheesh. If he'd been wearing a tie, he would've straightened it.

  "You know who I am?" I asked.

  "A security breach."

  "Not just any breach."

  He paused. "The one at City Hall. Mr. Roderick informed me about you."

  A chuckle slipped from my throat. "Did he also inform you that I kicked his ass three ways to Sunday?"

  Rudi lifted an eyebrow. "Tyson? No way. I've seen him put a defensive lineman on his ass."

  I cocked my head. Something was strange. Rudi wasn't quite confident, but he wasn't nervous either. I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was bragging about an elemental besting a football player. It was a strange thing to say.

  I let the shadows slip into my eyes again. The lamp became blinding but I avoided looking at it. Instead I studied the commissioner. Nothing betrayed his hand.

  Rudi grew impatient as I watched him. "Look," he said in a superior tone. "I don't know who you are, but you better give me one good reason not to call security and have you arrested right now."

  I reached over his shoulder like I was doing a magic trick, into the shadow between him and the seat. Instead of pulling a quarter from his ear, I presented a sawed-off shotgun and nestled it against his cheek.

  "That's a good reason," he conceded. Now I saw nervous. "Just tell me what you want."

  I pulled the gun away. "You're telling me you don't know?"

  He hesitated, and then shook his head.

  "My name's Cisco Suarez. Ten years ago I was murdered by a crew called the Covey. Your head of security was there. Maybe you were too."

  "Wha—" He shook his head, emphatically this time. "I had nothing to do with that."

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "It's the truth."

  I snorted. "I know about the Cayman Islands accounts. I know about your scheme to depress property values along Biscayne Boulevard, to buy the real estate up at rock-bottom prices. I know you were working with Tunji
Malu."

  "Okay, okay!" he said frantically, throwing his hands up in surrender even though I wasn't pointing the sawed off at him anymore. "You want money, then. I can do that."

  "I don't want your blood money," I growled. "I want my life back."

  Rudi Alvarez froze in place, unsure how to comply.

  "And put your arms down," I said. "It's embarrassing."

  He did as told and swallowed slowly. "Just tell me what you want," he asked again.

  I looked him in the eyes. "I want to know every detail about this plan you hatched ten years ago."

  "I'm telling you, I had nothing to do with that."

  "Bullshit," I snapped, drawing the gun to his face and putting pressure on the trigger.

  "I wasn't even a city commissioner ten years ago," he pleaded. "This is an elected position. Two years a term. I'm on my sixth year. I wasn't important to them until I was in office."

  My finger released the trigger. What he was claiming was, like his address, a matter of public record. If it was the truth then Rudi Alvarez wouldn't have been approached until well after my family was dead. "Important to who?"

  "The—whatever you called them." Rudi leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. "These people take out whoever's in their way. Trust me. Whatever happened to you could've happened to me if I didn't cooperate."

  "You're playing the victim now?" I sniggered. "Come on. I know you're next in line for mayor. You're telling me you don't call the shots?"

  He laughed. "The mayor isn't a rook. He's not a bishop or a knight even. He's just a pawn in a strong position. And I'm not even in that position yet."

  A corrupt hack. A figurehead. In this grand conspiracy of shadows, Rudi was just another puppet. As I had been. "Then you'll help me."

  His tenor increased to a squeal. "They'll kill me."

  I pressed the short barrel to his forehead to remind him I'd do the same. "How do I get to them?"

  The commissioner took a shallow breath. "You think I know that? Everything is manufactured for my benefit. They're using me for my political connections."