Black Magic Outlaw: Books 1 - 3

by Domino Finn

  "Just a jobber putting in the hours, are you?"

  He winked at me. "Consider the truce. It's a fair offer. We could make your life difficult, but we haven't started yet. Maybe, when this all settles, we might even prosper together."

  I licked at the blood still in my mouth and lowered the weapon. Simon Feigelstock smiled appreciatively and went on his way.

  Whatever dirty dealings the man was into, he was right. It wasn't him that had killed me way back when. I didn't know fact one about the Society. It was an easy guess that they weren't about unicorns and rainbows, but I wasn't the spellcraft police.

  Maybe one day they'd get in the way of what I wanted again. Maybe that one day was inevitable. Maybe, if it came to blows, I'd be better prepared and willing to take out Simon later.

  But maybe I didn't need to deal with the wizard cartel at all. I'd never seen them in Miami before. Maybe their influence was more international. I reminded myself that I was in the Caymans only for information gathering, and I still had more to get.

  I returned to the patio. Simon was gone now, just like my chance of pursuit. Kita may not have seen me tailing her, but someone had obviously known about me. At least now I knew about them too.

  As I passed the cabana with the drawn curtains, I slipped inside. Still empty. No one had carelessly left behind a thumb drive with their evil plans on it. I wondered where that left me. Before I left I noticed the check on the table beside the empty wine glass. I couldn't make out the scribbled signature, but it kinda maybe started with a C.

  Connor. Was he a booster? A connected animist? Another puppet, like Alvarez? I couldn't be sure of anything yet.

  Redbeard may have been boarding a plane to a private island by now, but Simon said their business had concluded a day early. That meant everyone had planned on sticking around another night.

  Whether Connor was still in town or not, I did have a new lead on a location of interest: his room number, 2417, was printed beside his signature on the check.

  Chapter 16

  Back in the day I had a small-time voodoo partnership, but these last few weeks (after my "hiatus") introduced me to the joys of working alone. I was a private practitioner now, through and through. Only, all of a sudden, I was deep-rooted in Miami politics, Nether curses, and under the oppressive eye of one wizard cartel.

  Cheer up, Cisco. You've made it to the big time.

  I was dejected. I even (briefly) considered backing down. (Momentarily.) I saw the wisdom in backing down, at least. Yup, the benefits of not directly challenging a secretive collective of animists were reeeeal convincing, right up to the point that I broke into Connor's hotel room during maid service.

  Hey, what can I say? I'm an opportunist.

  I pretended I owned the place, asked for extra towels, and gave the nice lady a sizable tip—oh, and I ordered plentiful room service—all charged to Room 2417. High-end crab, shoestring fries, and a couple cervezas. It took the edge off.

  Simon the enforcer must have been telling the truth about Connor leaving town because he didn't awkwardly walk in on me taking a shower or wearing his bathrobe and slippers. It wasn't all living the high life, though. I spent most of the time exhaustively searching the room for clues. Unfortunately, I didn't find any crumpled papers in the trash with secret codes revealing his next whereabouts. I even ran a pencil over the pad of paper by the phone but, lo and behold, it turns out people don't write down messages anymore. I would've attempted the old redial trick on the hotel phone, but I realized the last call was me ordering food.

  This is why I'm not a private investigator.

  Luckily, I did find a spare key card for the room sitting on the nightstand in an envelope with the Wi-Fi code. Connor had probably kept one and dropped the copy here. That meant no more brushes with the cleaning crew. I wiped the fossils of room service off the bed (to the floor) and took a load off. I could get used to king-size beds and bathrobes.

  Thoughts of the Society intruded on my leisure. I wasn't sure what to make of them. Having bigger players involved changed the playing field, like every other episode of Dragon Ball Z. My investigation was swerving dangerously close to cartoon territory. Laughable or not, this new collective had to be taken seriously.

  I didn't doubt that the Society had dirty laundry, but that didn't mean they cared about my used boxer briefs. They had their jumbo-sized hamper and I had my pile on the floor. It wasn't much, but I had enough to worry about without sharing a load. (I bet you never heard a guy go on with a dirty laundry metaphor so long before.)

  The point is, we didn't have to come to blows. But that didn't mean I bought into their claim of neutrality either. I did, however, believe that I'd been under their radar. I was the Covey's business. So why was the Society involved at all?

  It was obvious why they went to bat for the paper mage. Rudi Alvarez is a prominent politician. Until now I'd assumed all the money he embezzled was for personal gain. Now I had to consider the Covey's and the Society's interests as well. What a tangled web greed weaves.

  I began to see the lack of confrontation so far as a good thing. Sure, I'd backed Rudi into a corner and he'd set loose his dogs—he was still after me—but he was never calling the shots. Finding him in the Caymans wouldn't have netted me much more than I already had.

  I tossed over the details in my head. It felt good to slow down, drink a beer, and investigate while I decided how to handle my larger problems.

  I raided the minibar, hung a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door knob, and smuggled a couple beers and a pack of Peanut M&Ms to the hotel office beside the downstairs lobby. Perfect, an empty room and a computer. It took some doing, but I found references to the owner of the hotel: one Connor Hatch. No pictures, but the woman from the hot tub had said that the guy acted like he owned the place. Maybe that was because he actually did.

  Going off that name, I found Connor had a background in security services and was an investor in several companies. He also had strings of real estate in the Caribbean, Nicaragua, Panama, and Venezuela. I never found reference to his residence or private island ownership. If Simon was bullshitting about that, then maybe Connor was still within reach.

  I didn't have much and soon ran out of ideas for searches. Maybe he was just a booster. A man with money. Connected.

  Then I considered another name I'd been meaning to research. Henry Hoover: father of Kita Mariko and Emily Cross, world traveler and real-estate tycoon, and murder victim of Cisco Suarez. I shivered. The Covey ordered his death for a reason.

  Henry's properties were now owned by his daughters. At the height of his equity, his real estate was perhaps on par with Connor's, less extravagant but spread around the world. He was Australian born and had a lot of business there and in Asia before his later years in Latin America. He developed a lot of property for housing contracts, so his influence was always shifting around. I made notes of several Grand Cayman properties, but nothing stood out. These leads would require boots on the ground.

  I also did some ancillary searches on Covey members, but didn't turn up much. The former head of security (and volcanic elemental) hadn't resurfaced since being fired. There wasn't any history on him. It bugged me that he was missing, if only because I couldn't see him coming. Then there was the question of Rudi Alvarez. I had hoped to find him here but only ran into Kita.

  But the politician's business did result in a hit. His new pet project, the Passport to Latin America, a business initiative with South Florida, the Caribbean, and Central and South America. A joint project to enrich trade. That was the business his office had said he was in the Caymans for. That was the business he should have been attending to. And the primary fund-raiser event was being held in Miami three days hence.

  "Gotcha, Rudi," I said. It had taken a day and a half to sail here. If I left tomorrow afternoon, I'd have all morning to prepare for the event. It's not that I thought Rudi could tell me anything new, but having a private one-on-one might convince him to call off his
dogs. At times I could be... persuasive.

  Eventually, my beers and my mind were all dry, and I figured I'd done enough work for my first day in the Caymans. I checked the lobby and shops for familiar faces. I ordered a beer when I found the patio free of animists and wandered to the beach. Maybe it was the alcohol or the night sky (probably the alcohol), but I figured I'd earned a break. I hiked out to the sand and found a hotel chair to collapse in.

  The sound of the waves worked wonders on my soul. Some magic has nothing to do with spirits and everything with being human. I sipped my beer and let the stress melt away. Vigilante justice was hard work. Too bad I didn't have time to take another day out here. You know, to "investigate leads." With the cash I saved on the hotel room, I could swing the extra expenses.

  A shuffle of sand behind me jolted my eyes open. A flash of blonde hair fell over my head before two hands from behind covered my eyes.

  "Guess who?" came an alluring voice.

  With the blonde hair, my first thought was Emily. It wasn't logical or reasonable, but it was what my body wanted. Of course, it wasn't her and I knew it.

  I let out a long breath and eased back into the chair, glad I hadn't pulled my shadow trick. "Um..." I slow played her. "Let's see. I've met so many gorgeous women in hot tubs today."

  Jade laughed and uncovered my eyes, immediately going for a playful pat on my shoulders. I was wearing the tank with the trunks now, figuring for a cool breeze, but the air was warm anyway. So was Jade as she sat sideways in my lap.

  Despite her voluptuous figure, she wasn't heavy at all. No sir, she could stay there all night.

  "Wedding over?" I asked.

  "That's not for another day," she said, lifting her arms above her head and pulling her long hair back. The resulting effect on her chest was... seductive. The thin white triangles of her bathing suit strained against her breasts, and she held the pose just long enough for me to know it was on purpose. There was something about her skin that was riveting. Pinker than I was used to in Miami and most of what I'd seen in the Caribbean. She seemed untouched by the sun.

  "So how goes your complicated personal life?" she asked with a smirk.

  "It doesn't seem so complicated at the moment."

  "No?" She wiggled in my lap and put her arm around me. "I'm not surprised. Vacations simplify things."

  I shrugged and locked my arms around her waist. Her bare skin was cool to the touch. I thought about ripping off the wrap she wore to see how the rest of her bare skin felt. She must have read my mind.

  "Mr. Cisco!" she said with a mock gasp. "Behave yourself!"

  "It's Suarez," I said. "And you're just gonna have to deal with fast-and-loose Cisco Suarez tonight. I've had a few beers. Believe it or not, I'm not a big partier."

  She giggled and grabbed my half-empty bottle, chugging most of it.

  "I guess you've had a few too."

  She winked and upturned it in my mouth until it was dry. I took the empty bottle and pitched it in the sand. She was already onto rubbing my forearm tattoo.

  "What's this mean?" she asked.

  Oh, just an ancient Nordic power symbol that looks like an arrow, but is really just one branch of a more powerful sigil called the Helm of Awe. "I like arrows," I said, realizing I didn't have a cover story for my tattoos yet.

  She nodded. "I like tattoos."

  "I've got another," I said, producing my left palm. She jumped when she saw the black mark covering my hand. I did too, a little. The mark was darker than before, like a rot was setting in. It had spread to cover my entire palm, too. I told myself my skin was fine. It was just a hex. Something I needed to look into when I got back to Miami.

  "Sorry," I said, closing my fist. "Forgot I burned myself." Jade's eyes widened and I could tell she wanted to ask about it. I tried to change the subject. "Do you have any tattoos?"

  She smiled again and shifted in my lap, looking over her shoulders as she turned her back to me. Her lashes fluttered and she looked down, curving her back so her butt was pressed close. Message received, loud and clear. Now I really wanted to peel her wrap off. When I reached, she jumped off me and skittered away.

  "You wanna do something crazy?" she asked, looking up and down the beach. The company was surprisingly sparse.

  "Let's get married and get tattoos declaring our love for each other," I said.

  Jade rolled her eyes. "I really need to spell it out for you, don't I?" She unwrapped the cloth at her waist and tossed it toward me. The wind carried it into my face. When I brushed it aside, Jade was racing to the ocean.

  "Don't have to spell that out," I murmured.

  I followed her with a too-cool-for-school walk, but I was really just buying time. I was a bit nervous. I'd only been the well-muscled, attractive-to-girls Cisco Suarez for three weeks, and most of that time I'd been fighting for my life. The chance to have fun, to be normal—scratch that—to be exceptional, had hardly occurred to me.

  I was single. Missed most of my twenties and early thirties. My old girlfriend was married to my best friend. Hell, I was on vacation in the Caymans on a private beach in a luxury resort with a beautiful woman. What was I weighing my options for? Like Jade had said, vacations simplify things.

  Already knee-deep in the water, she beckoned me and walked backward. I pulled off my tank top and headed in. She hopped away playfully but I closed the distance in no time. The water fought against us as we trekked along the sandbar, chest deep. Jade giggled and laid her back against a gentle wave, but dashed further before I could reach her. Then she unhooked her bikini top. Her blonde hair was matted down by water that flowed down her shoulders and over her breasts. They bounced as she hopped furtively away. Then she sank to her neck, depriving me of the view.

  I pushed ahead until we were only a few yards apart, she seductively backing away, me joining the dance. Jade's smile had a dastardly tinge to it, and she let her chest surface once more to tease me onward.

  We walked deeper into the sea, pushing through gentle current, the tension building between us, before she raised her hand for me to stop. I obeyed, but my face made it clear she couldn't hold me off for long. Her eyebrows arched in pleasure.

  "It's beautiful out here," she said. She was right.

  Seven Mile Beach was stunning this far out. The sandbar stretched an impossible distance from the shoreline. I could see the entire curve of the island. The ocean was calm, the waves slow and steady, very conducive to what I had in mind. When the other half of Jade's swimsuit floated to the surface, I knew she agreed. I couldn't hold back anymore.

  I closed in as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Her breasts squeezed against my chest. She pulled my mouth down into hers. We kissed, both hungry from our hunt, impossible to sate. She shook a little as the tension fled her body then pulled back and ran her hand over my chest.

  "You're a good kisser," she said softly.

  "I'm good at other things."

  She smiled. "I almost regret having to do this." Then she yanked my head underwater with her full weight.

  Bubbles rushed past my face, disorienting me. I thought she was playing rough at first, but her grip was strong. Somehow, I was upside down, the comforting sandbar out of reach.

  I thrashed in the water, looking for purchase, trying to shake free. I batted her arms away and she spun around me. Between the bubbles, I caught a glimpse of a large fish body snaking after Jade, each scale as green as her namesake.

  Chapter 17

  Mermaids are bad business.

  I'd never met any firsthand before, but the sum of their mystique centers on luring gullible men into the depths to drown. That was it. That's what they're known for. And here I was—a man, no doubt, but also a formidable animist—and I'd fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

  Did that mean she was lying about me being a good kisser?

  Jade snaked her body around me like an eel. Her cold scales kept a surprisingly firm grip around my legs, pinning them together.

  N
obody's invincible—I don't care what kind of magic they sling. My first instinct in times like this is safety. The thought process is simple: Get away from the big thing with the claws. Then counterattack. The only problem was, I wasn't sure where to get away to. And the big thing with the claws was a small woman with a fish tail.

  I tried to melt into shadow, to dash several feet away from the constricting serpent, but my body snagged on something. I couldn't reach the darkness.

  There are things that can trap me in this world. Iron can bind my magic easily. The firm grip of a creature is often enough to keep me in place. Or even when I can shift through shadow, they sometimes come with me. This time was different. My magic responded sluggishly. I wasn't trapped, but numbed somehow.

  It occurred to me that I'd never tried to duck into shadow in the ocean before. Was it not possible to rematerialize within the fluid? Was the salt in the water, legendary for disrupting the Intrinsics, neutering me?

  These were the things I thought about while my brain was slowly deprived of oxygen.

  Despite the seeming strength of her fish parts, Jade's top half was a diminutive woman. Maybe she was stronger than she had a right to be, but I had to have her beat. I shoved her away, callused hands scraping supple flesh. It was almost like fighting a pillow, and just as frustrating.

  Keeping her at arm's length wasn't going to solve the problem of her tail wrapped around my legs. Her bottom half must have doubled in length in her true form, so she had plenty of serpentine mileage to tangle me with. I figured the only way to make her let go was to hurt her.

  Underwater, my punches had a dreamlike quality. Sluggish, ineffective, like a slow-motion John Woo shot, only with bubbles instead of doves. (Are bubbles a heavy-handed metaphor for anything?)

  Not only were my attacks slow by days, but Jade was alarmingly quick in her element. She effortlessly slid to and fro, frustrating every ounce of my spent effort.