Shadow Play Page 13

  I flicked the parking brake and spun the steering wheel, blocking the center of the two-lane street, spinning the car in a smooth one-eighty. Well, it would've been smooth if it were only a one-eighty. The movies show how to initiate the maneuver but not how to properly complete it. When all was said and done, I rocked closer to a four-fifty.

  For those reaching for a calculator, that's making a complete rotation and a quarter of another one. The car stopped unceremoniously, perpendicular to the road. To my left, two cars laid on their horns. To my right was an angry bull monster.

  Three-point turns aren't sexy but they're reliable. I corrected my facing and stared down my opponent, which was difficult considering it didn't have eyes. In truth, I was pretty much just looking at a can of Red Bull. But damn it, I hated the stuff.

  The bull let out a frustrated grunt and the cars behind me finally got the picture and reversed away. Not me, though. I stood my ground. (Metaphorically, since I was sitting in a bucket seat.) Even though the monster was twice the size of Milena's car, I wasn't about to be cowed.

  The beast snorted, scraped a hoof on the street, and charged. I gunned it too. Possessed metal and dual-injected fiberglass bore down on each other. I shot an open palm toward the windshield, invoking the dog-collar fetish around my wrist, and the front of the car was painted in shadow.

  Stay on target, I kept thinking. Stay on target. Because that never ends poorly. The closer we got, the more I wondered about the practicalities of the game of chicken. I mean, what did we do after we crashed into each other?

  I gritted my teeth, pulling my best action-hero impression, and pressed my boot to the floor. Let's see Bruce Willis do this.

  The bull lowered its horns. Flashes of my shadow wall failing ran through my thoughts. The wraith twisting through it with ease. The volcanic elemental forcing his way past. I didn't know exactly what this thing was, and I couldn't take that chance.

  To its credit, the poltergeist didn't flinch. At the last second, I swerved to the right. The Fiat skipped onto the sidewalk as the bull charged past. I corrected the steering, right tires spinning in the grass only feet away from the Bay, passing the accident wreckage where a soaking wet driver stood by the water with his hands on his hips.

  One less thing I needed to worry about.

  I slalomed between parking meters to make it back to the street. In my rear view, the beast lumbered my way again, enraged. Some blocks ahead, Milena drove the garbage truck through the chain link and turned it on the street away from me.

  Perfect. With the poltergeist pursuing, I gunned it toward the truck.

  "Open the back, Milena," I whispered. "Open the back."

  On cue, the hydraulic wall of the garbage bay unfolded and opened wide. Milena peeked out from the driver's seat, horrified to see her car doing double the speed limit with the truck blocking the street.

  I, on the other hand, was in complete control. After all, this had worked once already.

  I pulled the parking brake and spun the backside again. This was no one-eighty. Actually, I'm not sure how many times I spun around this time. But I ended up perpendicular again, right behind the garbage truck.

  I rolled down the window. "Get ready to run the compactor," I shouted.

  "I don't know what that is," she said.

  I watched the beast bearing down on us. "Figure it out quick."

  I gassed the car in place, getting ready to make my move. The red Fiat rocked back and forth like a matador's cape. And, just like the fights, it enraged the bull. It charged mindlessly at me, carelessly pursuing a single goal. Giving it tunnel vision.

  Right before the massive ghost slammed into me, I jerked the car forward. The bull crashed into the bay of the garbage truck.

  "Now!" I screamed.

  The hydraulic wall slid down. The bull roared as it braced against two-thousand pounds of pressure per square inch, but its legs buckled. We both jumped out of our vehicles and ran to the back to watch the carnage. The packer forced the garbage beast down and inward, crushing it into inert junk.

  Milena clapped her hands excitedly. I wasn't done yet.

  "I need a mirror," I said, checking the storefronts for reflective windows.

  "What? Why?"

  "It's not dead yet. Just contained."

  "Are you sure?"

  The garbage truck jolted to the side as something within struggled to get free. Milena jumped.

  "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

  "But it's a ghost," she said. "Can't it get out?"

  "Yes. That's why we need to hurry." I moved onto the grass to get a view down the street in both directions. "Right now the ghost is essentially inside the objects it possessed. As soon as it figures out it's stuck, it will try to switch to a better object. But if I can find a reflective surface, I can send it back to the Murk for good."

  We searched frantically. Headlights in the distance approached as the apparent danger was gone. The garbage truck bounced again, this time skipping a foot to the side.

  "It's so pretty," said Milena. "The moon."

  It was a thin crescent above us. "Call me crazy but I don't think this is the time for—"

  Milena grabbed my head and forced my view down. I saw it again. The moon. This time reflected in the still water of Biscayne Bay.

  "That's my mirror," I said.

  I hopped in the garbage truck and popped it in reverse. Intermittent warning beeps annoyed the general area as Milena moved the Fiat from my path. After some slight resistance in the gears, the rear loader backed over the curb and dropped its ass into the water.

  I clicked the lever and the back wall rumbled open. With no time to spare, I ran around to the back and wove a spell to weaken the barrier between worlds.

  Except when the door opened, the compacted pieces of garbage were no longer possessed. The poltergeist was gone.

  Chapter 25

  We managed to clear out of Miami Beach without getting pulled over by the cops.

  "This is it," I explained to Milena as she drove. "This is what my life is now. Ten years of bad deeds coming to bite me in the ass." I poured the box of shells into my belt pouch. They wouldn't all fit so I took what I could. As I packed the leftover cartridges back into the box, I found my original shell on the carpet. My misfire against the elemental. I studied it as I put the box in the glove compartment.

  "What do you mean?" asked Milena. "What bad deeds?"

  I sighed as I examined the plastic hull. "I told you what I was, Milena. A zombie. A thrall for that vampire. And who knows who else."

  "I know that part. But what bad deeds?"

  "You wouldn't understand," I said simply. I couldn't have chosen a better way to piss Milena off.

  "I 'understand' that we nearly had our heads caved in by that thing. I 'understand' that I was right next to you, putting my life on the line. I think I deserve to know what's going on, Cisco."

  "The murders," I blurted out. "I was a hit man, Milena. These ghosts are my previous targets. My victims."

  Her eyes widened in horror. "You killed them?"

  "Far as I can tell."

  "What did they do?"

  I rubbed my open palm on my forehead. "You don't get it. It wasn't me. I was compelled to hit my targets. I didn't need a reason. I blindly obeyed. I couldn't stop myself... no matter who it was."

  She frowned and I wished I'd remained silent.

  "What do you mean by that? Who was it?"

  I turned the defective shell in my hand, still intact, examining the nicks in the wad where I'd no doubt previously opened it for modification. Another enchanted cartridge. Perhaps I'd flubbed the mixture. I worked it open with my bronze knife.

  "Who was it you killed, Cisco?" urged Milena.

  I didn't answer. The shell should've been burnt where the gunpowder ignited. Even a blank would have enough for that. Removing the over-powder wad revealed the answer to the mystery: there was no gunpowder within the casing at all.

  A hacking sound overtook my
ears. Milena began to choke up, eyes red with tears. "S..." she said, the word catching in her throat. She swerved the Fiat to the shoulder, just blocks from her condo in Midtown, then wiped her eyes and turned to me. "Seleste?" she asked. "That was you?"

  My voice could barely crack a whisper. "Not me, Milena..."

  She screamed at the top of her lungs. The pitch set me on edge and I scooted away from her. "You bastard," she yelled, raining fists down on me. I kept my left arm down because I didn't want her to strike my Nordic armor tattoo (or the gashes along my forearm), but I fended her sloppy blows away with my right.

  "You have to believe me, Milena."

  "I did!" she screamed. "All I've done is believe you. And you lied to me!"

  "I didn't—"

  "You knew and you lied to me." She halted her futile attack and collapsed into the steering wheel, crying. "Oh my God, Cisco..."

  I searched for something to say, something that would make it all better. A part of me knew that was impossible, but there had to be something. Milena was all I had.

  "She knew it wasn't me," I stressed softly. "Seleste. When I saw her, she absolved me. She believed me."

  Milena shook her head, still refusing to make eye contact. "I don't know what to believe..."

  "Milena..." I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  She stiffened and recoiled in disgust. "Don't touch me!" she snapped. She drew away. There was fear in her eyes.

  "No—"

  "Stop!" she said over me.

  I didn't argue. I remained silent.

  Milena wiped her face again and took several calming breaths, slowly regaining control of her emotions. When she spoke again, she sounded overly calm. "Francisco Suarez, I want you to get out of my car. Right now."

  "Milena—"

  "Out," she asserted. "If you care for me at all. If you ever cared for your sister or your family in the slightest bit, I want you to get out of my car."

  Her face cracked as she said it. She was conflicted, I knew. Rationally, she understood what magic could do. She'd witnessed it herself. But the devastation of finally knowing who Seleste's killer was, of matching that crime to me, was too much to bear.

  And I didn't blame her.

  "Of course, Milena," I said quietly. "Whatever you need." I opened the door and slid out. "Just promise me to go home and stay safe."

  She didn't look at me again. She didn't even wait till I closed the door. She sped off, leaving me to reflect on the million other ways that conversation should've gone down. I leaned into my knees and buried my head for a moment.

  Stupid me. The whole time I'd been worried about convincing Milena to stay out of my affairs. Keeping her away was easier than I'd thought. Only now, she'd never talk to me again.

  It was worth it, I told myself, if it would guarantee her safety.

  Once again in the company of a long walk, I made for my truck. Then the safe house. No country music the entire way. Even the little haunt in the pickup knew not to fuck with me now. Lucky for him I had larger fish to fry.

  I thought I could ignore it, cast it aside, but just like the garbage beast, I'd had tunnel vision. Now I realized my spirit problem needed to be addressed. Minor annoyances I could live with, but the increasing power of the ghosts concerned me. This wasn't shadow play anymore. The garbage poltergeist had been like nothing I'd ever seen. Something was different about it. It took everything I could throw at it. And it got away.

  The poltergeist had attacked me in the open. Uncaring of innocents. Unbound by the usual rules of specters. Worst of all, it had put Milena and other innocents in danger. I couldn't let anything happen to someone else close to me, and I knew what I was willing to do to keep that promise.

  I marched into the darkness of the boat house. The wraith appeared even before I opened the lead safe.

  "I am at your service, Master," said the Spaniard with a knowing smile.

  "Screw the Aladdin routine," I told him. "Screw the three wishes. What I want is justice. To set things right. Give that to me, and I'll let you out."

  The apparition chuckled coarsely. "The bargain is not yours alone to alter."

  "The hell it isn't," I spat. "I have two favors left. I'm the one who decides when to cash those babies in." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Care to guess how willing I am to say never?"

  The Spaniard's red eyes narrowed. "So instead of two favors, you wish an undefined amount. That is not fair recompense, brujo."

  "Let's dispense the theatrics. You're the reason I'm in this mess. Finding the Horn caused nothing but a world of hurt for me and mine. Maybe that's not your fault, but why not make things right? Settle accounts?"

  I stepped up to him now, breathing in his bitter coldness. "You wanna talk about fair recompense? How many hundreds of years have you been bound to the Horn? Just how much would it mean to be set free? It's an easy deal, Spaniard. We work together to get these ghosts off my back. To put those who did this to me to justice. Those who would seize the chance to control you if they had the Horn themselves. You think they're gonna free you?" I shook my head. "No. We're better off working together."

  The two of us stood in silence as he considered.

  "I am more vulnerable while bound to the Horn," he hedged.

  "Then we'd better make a fast go of things."

  The ghost of the conquistador paced away silently, gnarled fingers clasped behind his back. The darkness made him almost invisible when his eyes weren't exposed. It didn't matter to me. I noted every painstaking shuffle he made, clear as day. The wraith finally sighed and faced me.

  "You have a bargain."

  Chapter 26

  I pulled into the driveway with my headlights off. It was an unnecessary safeguard. The house on Star Island was well chosen for my murder. Neighborhoods like these cherish seclusion; the houses are generously spaced, the yards flush by foliage. Best of all, at this time of night, the locals would be fast asleep.

  I walked to the back of the property and entered through the trashed sliding glass doors. The living room was as I'd left it, complete with errant hot tub. I wrapped my fingers around the Horn, my other hand resting on the skull belt buckle I wore.

  It was fitting, I thought.

  This was where it all started. And not just this story, but my entire story. Ten years ago, my life ended in this house, and a new life of murder began. Luckily, that one ended as well.

  I had a completely new life now. Not as naive as the first or as ruthless as the second. I didn't know where on the spectrum this one would end up, but I had a feeling it wasn't entirely up to me. Some people would say I had a clean slate. I knew better than that.

  I'm a necromancer. Living proof that past deeds haunt us for eternity.

  Breaking the silence seemed irreverent, but I was never one for ceremony. "You say I have ghosts all around me."

  The Spaniard coalesced beside me, first as two glowing orbs of red encased in a skull, then filling out with plate armor and blackened flesh and tatters.

  "They are attracted to those with our talents. To our pull over them."

  "And what do they do?"

  "Most of the time, nothing at all. Spirits in the Murk are like aimless embers drifting in the wind. So completely lost that their chances of materializing in this world amount to none."

  I nodded. "Yet you can see them. That's some trick."

  "I walk in both worlds, brujo."

  "Which means you can see things I can't." I led the conquistador to the center of the room where the pentagram had been. I let the black seep into my eyes, and the glow of the Intrinsics returned. "You see histories, the energies of spirits, where people die. You knew Milena's medal had belonged to my sister."

  "Spirits trample over their remnants in the physical realm. Their signatures break apart. It's difficult for them to maintain a lengthy presence, as you know. But if a significant enough event binds one to this world..." The wraith traced his eyes over the center of the invisible pentagram. He could see
it too.

  "A powerful ritual was enacted here," I explained. "Strong enough that magic still lurks in the air. This is where the first ghost attacked me."

  The Spaniard drew his head up. "You wish to speak to the poltergeist."

  Damn right I did. I had bigger problems, like the Covey, but I needed to do a little housecleaning first. Namely, taking care of my poltergeist problem. The safety of everybody else came before my mission. I knew that now. Otherwise I was just another monster.

  "Can you do it?" I asked. "Like you did with Seleste?"

  "Your sister was passing through the fringe between worlds," he reminded. "The spirit in this house escaped you. Poltergeists have freed themselves from the Murk, and as such are beyond my reach."

  "But you saw the haunt in my truck."

  He nodded. "Visible, but out of reach."

  I paced the room to consider what he said. My hope was to learn about the early ghosts so I could fight the latest one. The garbage beast was more powerful than the other poltergeists. Almost a physical presence. The trick was to be ready for it. Or perhaps even call it.

  Except, from what the wraith just told me, as far as poltergeists were concerned, I was on my own.

  "Is he lost to us then?" I asked.

  "Perhaps I can find him. If he wanders the fringe. Yet..."

  "What is it?"

  "I do not know." The specter scratched his jawbone with rotted fingers. "It is strange. The Murk is warped here. Perverted."

  "That's an easy one. I was murdered here. The real question is what I was doing here in the first place."

  "You were meeting those who wished to purchase the Horn," he said matter-of-factly.

  I waited a beat. "What? How do you know?"

  "I know."

  "And you didn't tell me?"

  "You never asked."

  My face flushed red.

  "Relax, brujo. I do not have all your answers, but I will convey those I do."

  "Only because it now conveniences you," I said with a sneer.

  The apparition shrugged. "And why not, Cisco Suarez? When you laid eyes on me, you were set to attack." He waved off my objection before I could voice it. "An understandable reflex, no doubt. You opted for caution over trust. Did I not deserve the same due?"