by Domino Finn
"And you think the elemental is in such a bind?"
"It would make sense, unless there's an elemental plot we're unaware of."
"Okay." I clapped my hands together. "Easy peasy. We can just cook up a binding spell then?"
"These arcane mysteries are beyond my knowledge, brujo. As you know, I focused my studies on the Murk and the spirits that give us power."
I frowned. Of course it wasn't easy peasy. "Jinns aren't powered the same way as us?"
"Humans tap spirits for magic. The wild folk are beings created from magic. It hums in their bones. The jinn, on the other hand, are magic. It is their essence, like all primal beings. That doesn't make them all powerful, but it makes them quite resilient. Foreign to our kind."
"But I'm smarter than the average bear," I quipped. "I should be able to slap him around a little. He ran from me back at the hotel."
The wraith blinked patiently. "Unless bound, escape is a jinn's safest bet. Exposed to open air, they can become one with the Aether instantly. Why fight when it is unnecessary?"
"I mean, this guy has a private jet. I've seen him hop into a car to avoid me. Why go through all that trouble?"
He thought a minute. "Jinns are unable to take objects from our physical world into the Aether. That's part of why binding them to a lamp is effective. Unless trusting others to the delivery, some business is best handled personally."
Money. Drugs. There were tons of reasons Connor might choose to use Earthly means of transportation. In the Caymans, he was carrying the USB drive. Back at the Biltmore, he just didn't have anything holding him down.
"Well, I'll be," I said, glancing at the map app on Kita's phone. An error message complained about not being able to update my location, but a map still loaded up. It was an old GPS coordinate from one of Kita's previous stops. And it was right in the middle of the ocean.
If I drew a line through the three Cayman Islands to Cuba, it intersected the location. It could've been a plane coordinate, I supposed. But maybe it was more. That line connected to the Sierra Maestra mountain range in Cuba. It was high ground that continued undersea and, in some areas, rose above the surface.
I'd found the location of Connor's private island.
"What is it?" asked the wraith.
I held out the phone to him. "Even Pablo Escobar can be cornered."
The Spaniard shied away from the phone. "Where did you get that?"
"Relax. It's called technology. You must've seen some by now."
"Not that," said the wraith. He lifted a finger of brown, shriveled flesh. "Your hand."
The hand holding the phone was completely covered in a dark crust. It was getting worse. I shrugged. "I mixed it up with a faun."
"That is not something to take lightly, brujo. You are cursed."
"So he said. But I haven't imploded or anything yet."
The Spaniard shook his head. "A Nether curse is less a magical hex and more a contract on your life."
Everything snapped into place. "That explains the mermaid."
"It is a stain that can only be given and taken by silvan royalty."
"Orpheus did say something about the Circle of Bone."
"That is his dominion then. You must convince them to remove it."
I snorted. "Not likely. You should've seen this guy."
The Spaniard's voice deepened. "As long as you bear that mark, the Nether will chase you. Scourgelings will be angered by your presence. Silvans will look to gain favor with their betters."
I nodded. "I kinda figured I should avoid the underworld for a while."
"They will grow bolder. They will come to the Earthly Steppe if they must."
I put the phone away. "I hear you but what can I do?"
"Beg for your life, or come to terms with the faun."
I answered him with a snicker. "That's not gonna happen. That guy's an asshole." At first I was surprised by the wraith's concern, but I realized if I died, so too did his chances for escape. He'd be bound to an artifact locked in a safe in the middle of nowhere for who knew how many more years.
"What about the others?" he suggested. "The satyr and the minotaur. Can they bargain on your behalf?"
I scratched my chin. If this Nether mark was as bad as the Spaniard insisted then Ceela still owed me. She seemed sensible, for a silvan anyway. "Maybe," I finally said. "I doubt it, but maybe. Only they're in hiding."
"I know where they are," revealed my companion. "When they entered the building, I hid from them. They never noticed me or your possessions, as you bid. After the human police were sent away, I overheard their plans."
Interesting. So I had a trick on the tricksters. But it had been days. There was no guarantee the silvans would still be there. I grimaced at the black crust spreading over my wrist. It was worth a shot, damn it.
But first, a quick stop.
Chapter 26
A cool breeze washed over the path outside Evan's house. I brushed the chill off my arms. The temperature had plummeted to the sixties sometime around midnight. Hey, that's pretty cold for Miami, and I didn't own a jacket.
A yellow Corvette pulled into the driveway and parked outside the garage. Evan Cross stepped out and ruffled his short, blond hair.
"Hey buddy," I said as I turned the corner of his house.
He started. "What the fuck? Everybody's looking for you." A pause. "I'm looking for you."
"Bang-up job then."
His demeanor remained harsh. "I'm in the shit because of you."
"Let me guess. Sergeant Ronaldo Garcia?"
"Not just him. Commissioner Alvarez. He's one of my bosses and he's holding me accountable."
I slid closer to my friend but kept my back against the wall, staying in the shadow. "I'm not the trouble."
"Trouble," he scoffed. "You wanna hear about trouble, man?" He ticked out his fingers. "You kick-started a war in Little Haiti that included the death of a prominent Nigerian business leader. You broke into City Hall and attacked the chief of security. You trespassed onto the commissioner's private residence and assaulted him and his staff. Then you crash a private fund-raiser and attack my team. All using black magic."
"All magic's black when you don't understand it."
His face grew cold. "One of my squad officers died."
"That was the poltergeist. More fallout from the Covey. I'm sorry, Evan. I know Rudi's just a pawn. But he's chosen sides so I'm taking him down."
He laughed. "You can't take him down, Cisco."
I held out the laptop. "With what's on here, I sure can. Now I'm hoping you choose a side, buddy, and I hope it's the right one."
"I'm a cop. Of course I'm on the right side."
"Then take the laptop."
We stood in silence for a minute, sizing each other up. He was probably working out how to get me into cuffs so he could turn me in. I was taking a gamble on my friend, but it was a good bet as far as I was concerned.
He eyed my offering warily before taking it from my hands. "What's on here?"
"Account records from Blue Sky Investments in Grand Cayman. A shell for the real estate being plucked and sold along Biscayne Bay. But that's just the start of it. The war in Little Haiti, devaluing those properties, me being a hit man thrall for the Covey—it's all just a small piece. On this hard drive are bank accounts and fraudulent activities that directly tie to Rudi Alvarez. Shit, Kita kept so much dirt on him, I wouldn't be surprised if she was blackmailing him herself."
He nodded but was already thinking about something else. "Kita recorded these? Where is she?"
I hiked my shoulders. "I thought she was at the hotel."
"She disappeared during the Biltmore incident. I asked you not to hurt her, Cisco."
"I only roughed her up a little. Listen, her disappearing is good news. I asked her to get out of all this. She's probably on the run." When he didn't say anything, I added, "She's fine. Trust me."
"You're making that harder and harder," he said. "But okay. I'll take a
look at these files."
I smiled, happy to see my faith being upheld. "I, uh, didn't see your name in those investments, by the way."
He looked away. "The accounts were never in my name. They were in Emily's. But we cleared out of the deal after you told us the money was dirty. Stupid as it was, we left a lot of cash on the table."
I grinned wider. "You can still be on the right side of this, then."
"I already am. Any illegal activity was done without my knowledge, Cisco. Believe me."
I nodded. "I do."
"Thanks, uh, for trusting me too."
"Hey, you gotta trust someone." I scratched the back of my head. "So listen. If this all works out..."
"You wanna see Fran."
"Pretty much." I didn't care about telling her I was her father. Not yet, anyway. The last thing I wanted was to turn her world upside down. But I wanted to be part of it.
"Maybe," Evan said. "But that's a long maybe. I can't have my child interacting with a known fugitive."
"I get it. Once I get Rudi off my back, I'll be anonymous in Miami again. It'll be safe."
He frowned and I knew what he was thinking. Things would never be safe around me. I didn't buy that. Once the Covey was out of the way, everything would change for the better. We stood there in silence until it started to get awkward.
"There's just one more thing," I said meekly. "In the spirit of open communication and all. I've known for a couple weeks, but I didn't know how to tell you. Maybe I was afraid of what I might learn. It's... it's about Emily."
Even with the laptop, he managed to cross his hands over his chest and look superior.
"She's a member of the Covey."
He blinked at me. "This group you're chasing?"
I nodded.
He swallowed hard. "What are you saying?"
I hissed. Did he ever listen? "The people that had me killed, Evan. She and Kita were a part of that. Their father too."
His eyes turned angry. "Bite your tongue."
"It's true. I already confronted her about it. That night with the poltergeist. When you were stuck with the cleanup at Rudi's house, I visited her here."
My friends arms dropped slowly to his side. "You shouldn't be coming here without me around."
"Are you even hearing me, bro? Emily's involved."
Still stoic. "Screw that. I don't want you bothering her about this."
I dropped my head and closed my eyes. I knew this would hurt him. "She admitted it to me, Evan."
I heard a click as Evan pulled the hammer back on his Colt Diamondback. I opened my eyes slowly. My friend had pulled a gun on me.
"Quick draw," I whispered. Had he been waiting the whole time for an opening?
"You remember when you thought I'd betrayed you, Cisco? You remember when you had that slither of darkness around my neck? How angry you were? You could have killed me."
We both stood like statues. I could've made a move, but I didn't.
Evan lowered the gun. "This was the opposite time, buddy. Your life was in my hands. Remember that."
I nodded.
He holstered his weapon and stomped to the front door, but turned for one last word of warning.
"The shit that's happened to you—no one deserves that. But now you're talking about my family. My family. You leave them the fuck alone, or I won't be so nice next time."
I let him go inside with the sum total of evidence I had against Rudi Alvarez. I guess, in hindsight, that could've gone better.
Chapter 27
One of the islands south of Miami Beach is Virginia Key. Most people know it because of the Miami Seaquarium. That or they take the Rickenbacker Causeway over it to get to Key Biscayne. But there's plenty of land in Virginia Key. More to it than people know.
Miami Marine Stadium was built in the sixties to showcase motorboat racing on the Bay. A backdrop of the islands and the downtown skyline make for a stunning view. But in the early nineties, Hurricane Andrew swept through the city. Miami Marine Stadium was declared unfit and shuttered its doors for good.
Not that it really has doors. The stadium's an open-air slab of cement straddling the beach and the water. A row of pillars behind the seating holds an enormous concrete roof that slopes sharply overhead, leaving nothing for the audience to see but clear blue sky and water.
I turned off the pickup's lights before I rolled into the empty parking lot. I'd never actually been here before. Just another piece of history lost to the generations. That didn't mean the stadium didn't show signs of life.
As I skirted the concrete access ramp that led to the seats, it was clear this place was never truly abandoned. Every square inch of the structure, including the metal hand railings, was covered in graffiti. Black, red, blue, green; I was surrounded by a rainbow of symbols and tags. On the way up, two Cuban kids not even old enough to smoke strolled by holding cans of spray paint. We nodded at each other and passed. Behind me, the clacker in their paint cans rattled as they readied for another piece of street art.
When I crested the ramp, I stood on a platform that horizontally divided the seating area in the center. The wooden chairs, cracked paint and all, rode right down to the waterline without even the safety of a railing. Only a thin cement walkway like the one I was on prevented a view from turning into a bath. In the first row were two more street artists, one a ropey black kid and the other a teenage girl. Puerto Rican, I thought. Both relaxed in the chairs, watching the water.
The Bay was calm today, a far cry from the choppy waves the night before. I turned to scan the rest of the seats but didn't see anyone else. A skyway above led to a floating press box. Despite having open windows, it was the only area in the stadium that could be described as enclosed. My money was on the silvans holing up in there.
I took a couple steps up the staircase before I stopped myself and turned around, a chuckle on my lips. Then I headed down the stairs instead, to the third row, and sat behind the couple watching the water.
"If I were on the run," I said smoothly, "the last thing I'd do is leave my back to the entrance." The two kids turned around, and the Puerto Rican girl's nose wiggled in that way I found so cute. I winked at her. "Just sayin'."
Ceela and Throok were in their human guises, but there were still plenty of similarities. Ceela's eyes were smaller, less exaggerated, but the same confident orbs sparkled within. Large gold hoops hung from each ear. Throok was imposing, even in his chair two rows below me, with a stripe of red across the center of his hair and through his matted beard. Their clothes were unassuming—jeans, baggy black shirts—and, of course, they had human legs. Silvans were masters of glamour, at least when it came to generalities, but they didn't possess magic to completely transform themselves. They couldn't change faces or skin color or height.
"At least you ditched the nose hoop," I told Throok.
He turned away from me and growled. Ceela clapped him on a big shoulder and laughed, taking it in stride.
"I'm impressed, wizard," she said, looking me over. "You've performed excellently."
A gruff snort. "I'm surprised you're still alive."
I ignored the crankypants. "You've done well for yourselves too, I see. Keeping your glamours on in our steppe for this long has to be taxing."
Ceela hiked a small shoulder. "Some might think so."
"You also did as you promised," I said. "My friend reported that the police abandoned my hideaway quickly after your arrival, and they haven't been back."
Throok spun around. "There was no one else there, wizard."
I clucked my tongue. "If that's true, then how'd I find you?"
They traded a nervous glance. I admit, I was impressed at the wraith's ability to hide as well. Neither the police nor the silvans detected his presence. I supposed keeping a foot in the Murk had its benefits.
The satyr chuckled abruptly, a bit too forcefully, pretending to be unruffled. "One of your pet spies. Of course!"
I didn't correct her. Ceela played it o
ff but she was flustered by their lack of discretion.
"We shouldn't be near him," warned the minotaur.
"Our deal was done," she said, dismissing the subject. "We have no more business, Cisco Suarez."
"That's not exactly true," I said, presenting my left hand to them. "There's a snag that's not tied up. The little detail of a Nether mark."
The two avoided looking at the black crust wrapping my skin.
Throok turned away from me again. "This is trouble, Ceela. We should go."
She was less dismissive. "What do you expect from us?"
"I expect something because this is your fault. You owe me."
She huffed and crossed her arms, like what I was asking was impossible.
I leaned over the empty row of seats. "I heard silvan royalty can remove the black mark. Do you two have any connections?"
Their eyes locked. Then Throok snorted. "Not just any royalty, wizard. That is a faun curse. It must be lifted by faun royalty."
Great. Silvan society was full of arbitrary rules and addendums. It was a lot like American bureaucracy, or the US tax code. I wondered if they had lawyers whose entire job was interpreting the ancient ways.
"The Circle of Bone," explained Ceela. "I did grow up close to one. He was a friend that doted on me."
"Perfect," I said. "Let's talk to him."
She leveled her eyes flatly at me. "He's Orpheus."
I rolled my eyes. "The baron of the Circle of Bone."
"Barons," grunted the minotaur. "I—"
"Let me guess," I cut in. "You hate them."
Throok nodded. "Spoiled royalty, with their castes and proprieties."
The satyr pulled her head back. "Don't say that."
"You know what I mean," he said. "It's the reason we're in this situation."
I hopped a row of seats to get right behind them. "How so?"
They looked at each other and Ceela sighed. "Here it is. Orpheus is a powerful man. He stands to inherit quite a bit. But he's the youngest of three brothers, and the least qualified to take over the Bone. It's not going to happen. You see, he can be a bit whiny when he doesn't get what he wants."
