Shadow Play Read online

  Chapter 30

  Kita Mariko's sharp eyebrows arched in rage as she adjusted her glasses. She wore a business suit with a modest skirt, jet-black hair pinned behind her head. Her four-inch heels spiked into the grass.

  "We meet at last," I said.

  The butterflies swarmed to their master like a school of fish. Kita smirked as her minions shielded her. Two guards with pistols hustled into position behind me, cocking their weapons menacingly.

  The chief of staff laughed derisively. "And here you thought I was just another pretty girl with lipstick."

  I shrugged. "I never thought pretty."

  Her eyes narrowed. "You choose to die disrespectfully then?"

  "You couldn't do it then, you can't do it now."

  One of the guards crept closer to me, and I signaled him to stop with my hand. He backed off and whispered into his earpiece.

  "Where are the others?" asked Kita.

  The guard hiked a shoulder. "They should be here."

  "You're lucky they're not dead," I revealed.

  Kita grumbled and directed the butterflies closer to me.

  "I know your tricks," I said with disdain. "Your illusions. Ten years ago, I ripped apart your paper dragon right in front of your eyes. What makes you think your insects will do any better?"

  The Japanese woman smiled. "Ten years' experience. But I wasn't in attendance that night. I merely sent my pet to assist. You could say I was there in spirit."

  "Doesn't relieve your guilt in the matter."

  "My only guilt stems from the fact that you're still alive."

  Kita motioned the guards with her head. They steadied their pistols on me and brushed the triggers.

  "I wouldn't do that," I warned.

  The first gun went off behind me. I blurred into a mist and the bullet proceeded toward Kita. She sidestepped and had her butterflies absorb the fire. Several torn scraps of paper floated to the ground like dead leaves.

  As soon as I phased back in, I had the shadow yank the other gunman's feet from under him. He tumbled to his back and fired uselessly into the air.

  The first guard adjusted to my new position. I flung my bronze knife at him. The blade settled between his ribs and he dropped his pistol in disbelief. I somersaulted on the grass toward him, retrieved his gun, and finished with a punch in his gut. He dropped to the ground.

  I didn't wait. I spun and fired at Kita. Predictably, her swarm swooped in and protected her like a wall. The weapon shredded scraps of paper, but the semi-automatic couldn't fire fast enough to put a dent in her magic.

  Meanwhile, the other guard wrestled against the shadow holding him down. Because I was distracted, he actually managed to point his pistol at me and break off a few shots that went wide. I concentrated and swelled the shadow over his form. The mass lifted him ten feet in the air before forcing him back to the ground on his head. His limbs slumped like noodles.

  Before I could turn back to Kita, vicious swipes cut into my side. The butterflies swarmed me. Literal death by paper cuts. I slipped into the shadow and re-emerged a few yards to the side, but the yellow insects were quick. They flitted wherever I went. The gun in my hand ran empty suppressing them.

  I hopped in and out of the darkness, sporadically raked by the vile swarm. I needed to get them away from me. Find some breathing room. And I realized just how to do that.

  I shifted to the unconscious guard, dropping my empty pistol and picking up his. I rolled on the ground as if to wick myself free of fire. On my hands and knees and with some distance, I raised the gun. Instead of firing at the butterflies, my target was Kita.

  She executed a single back flip, heels over head. At the same time, she recalled her protective wall. The butterflies bunched together in the path of my fire and fell away, one by one. It wasn't a winning long-term strategy, but it had accomplished my goal. The butterflies had forgotten about me for the time being.

  As the last shell ejected from the chamber, Kita smiled. So did I. I lifted my sawed off from the shadow and watched in satisfaction as the hammer struck. Sparks flew from the weapon and the birdshot cascaded against the butterfly swarm, setting it alight. The flames licked at anything close, so even the insects that escaped the initial blast were engulfed as they attempted to scatter. Within seconds, they were all consumed in a rolling fireball.

  The yard returned to darkness in a flash. Embers rained on us. It was just me and her in the yard now. The shell had been my last with orange powder. The unconscious guards, the empty firearms—they were all just appetizers. We were animists, and we both knew this would come down to spellcraft.

  Kita's skirt had a split up the front from her evasive maneuver. Her heels had already been kicked off. She watched me cautiously as she pulled off her jacket and threw it to the grass.

  I raised an eyebrow. "Either it's Casual Friday or I just turned you on."

  The scorn left her face. She even managed a light chuckle. "Maybe in another life, shadow witch."

  "Considering this is my third, chances don't look good."

  Her lips tightened. "I was warned about your talent."

  "You should've listened."

  She ignored the quip and paced the yard, pulling a fan from her sleeve. She spread the ruffled paper and waved it seductively.

  Meanwhile, I fingered the black twine around my neck and pulled the silver whistle from under my shirt. It was coming into play soon, and I needed it close.

  "What is it you want, Kita?" I asked, folding my shotgun and replacing the shell. "Why play politics?"

  She fanned her face lightly. "Just a means to an end."

  "This is the end, you know. Your ten-year shadow play is over. Not a bad run, but all conspiracies get exposed eventually."

  "Exposed?" She smiled. "What have you exposed? You're a fugitive. A dead man. You're a no-name scumbag in over his head."

  "The name's Cisco Suarez. And why don't you come over here and say that."

  We stared at each other long and hard, then her eyes dashed past me. "I don't need to."

  Tyson Roderick stood behind me with his chest puffed out and a sneer on his face. He surveyed the grounds and his fallen security team. "Useless," he muttered.

  Kita giggled. "Sorry," she offered, not at all consolatory. "I was stalling."

  A single chuckle escaped my lips. "So was I."

  From behind her, the santero lashed out. The darkened figure in a hoodie wrapped Kita in a bear hug and lifted her off the ground. She shrieked and dropped her fan.

  Tyson growled and his skin cracked into seams of molten light. Before his transformation was finished, he charged the santero. I had other plans. I fired the bird shot at his center mass. His body not fully hardened yet, the bird shot ripped into his flesh. Tyson groaned and altered his direction, coming for me.

  "Shit." I ejected the shell and loaded another. As I flicked the barrel up, Tyson pounded the shotgun from my grip. His other hand caught my jaw and sent me flying.

  I was lucky. Instead of continuing his onslaught, the elemental went to rescue Kita again. She heaved the thrall over her shoulder, but he was latched on with a deathly grip. He pulled her with him and they tumbled to the ground.

  I shifted through the shadow into Tyson's path. I materialized and landed my fist in his side, forcing him to consider me again. He clamped his hands together and drew them down. My armored forearm caught them in a flash of blue.

  It was his knee that I missed.

  Again on the floor, the breath fled my body. This time the elemental didn't ignore me. He leapt and squared his knee to my head. I barely managed to phase to safety.

  Struggling to breathe, I couldn't stop Tyson from his goal this time. He grabbed the santero and ripped him off his ally. With a gold-medal heave, he spun in an arc and rocketed the zombie into the air. My pet crumpled against the brick house with the sound of snapping bones.

  Yuck. I made a grossed out face.

  Kita rolled to her feet and recovered her fan in one swi
ft motion. With a flick, confetti sprayed from it. I barely got my shield up in time. The magical projectiles popped like drops of water in oil, flashes of red searing my magic. The Nordic shield wasn't meant for this type of protection—it was meant for bullets not spellcraft—but it fended off the physical confetti all the same.

  Tyson circled us as we sparred, flanking me. I backed away, keeping my attention on the mage. She cartwheeled toward me, each rotation spinning the fan into something longer. I erected a shadow wall but the fan sliced through it like butter.

  With Kita's last cartwheel, she brought the fan down, now folded and elongated into a sword. I met the blow with a forearm block. A flash of power skipped between us like an electrical circuit, blowing us apart and to the ground. I rolled in the dirt and caught myself. She flipped back and landed lightly on her feet.

  I strained to stand as Kita waited.

  Illusory magic, like my shadow magic, usually didn't have that much kick to it. Paper tigers, tricks of form and substance, held more weight in the mind than the world. The fact that Kita had packed so much punch into that strike frightened me. Ten years of extra experience indeed.

  I casually brushed myself off. Cool as a cucumber. "You're gonna need to do better than that."

  She pouted. "Your defenses are impressive, but rapidly weakening."

  I shook my head. Cool. "Lady, there's no such thing as weakened Norse armor."

  Her eyes flicked to my arm as a tickle ran down my wrist. I checked my forearm tattoo. A single stream of blood leaked from a small cut bisecting the tattoo.

  Kita Mariko laughed at my shock and raised her long fan once more.

  Talk about one hell of a paper cut.

  Chapter 31

  I fit the whistle in my mouth and made my silent call. The paper mage cartwheeled at me. The last thing I wanted was to parry the blow again.

  You'd think I could just slip away into shadow, but her weapon was enchanted. And sharp. I was afraid she'd slice right through the shadow and make me sashimi. Instead, I phased through her and sent a shadow punch at her side. Her fan snapped open between us like a shield.

  The force of my blow pressed her back but she was unharmed.

  The elemental spat a stream of lava at my back. I held it off with my shield, but just barely. Elementals were magic, all right. But as beings of energy, they manipulated the physical. The shield crackled as it diverted the molten flow, but the constant stream pushed through. The palm tattoo wasn't meant to stave off this much mass. I had to constantly skirt the searing beam to keep from turning to toast. In the meantime, I exposed myself to attack from Kita.

  "A little help here," I barked.

  Before Kita locked on me, she noticed the santero on the move. His hood had fallen away now, exposing a bloody pulp of a head dangling loosely by the neck. Double yuck. He wouldn't win any beauty awards, but he was a mindless drone. He didn't need to be completely together to function. To the paper mage's dismay, the santero lumbered toward her.

  Tyson saw the play as well. He cut off his projectile attack and stomped at me, intending to go through me to get to my thrall.

  He didn't pay attention to the disembodied knife that rose from the dead guard's torso. The bokor weapon flung through the air on its own and embedded below Tyson's shoulder.

  The elemental stiffened and clawed at his back. Before he could grab the knife, it was plucked from his flesh by an invisible hand. Tyson spun around and swung at his attacker but his fists swiped thin air. Then the bronze blade plunged through his rockskin, straight into his heart.

  Tyson Roderick collapsed to his knees, his sunglasses falling to the grass.

  Kita fared better. By now, the poor santero was missing one arm and had his belly sliced open. She spun away from one of his charges and kicked him in the back, sending him careening into the ground. She smiled triumphantly and flicked the fan in her hand, savoring the moment of the kill.

  Before the fan fell, I pulled the trigger of the sawed off. The birdshot ricocheted harmlessly against the fan, but the pellets that peppered her hand were a different story.

  She yelped and dropped the weapon. Kita moved to recover it, but a tendril of shadow jerked it away. She began to chase it, then thought better. She spun around just in time to see my fist catch her cheek. Kita tumbled over the santero, who clamped his only arm around her and held her down.

  "You're quick," I said. "I'll give you that."

  She struggled but the zombie wrapped his legs around the woman and caught her in a triangle hold. A real go-getter, this one.

  "Get this thing off me," she demanded. "He smells like bile."

  "Then you probably shouldn't have sliced his stomach open."

  I turned away and returned to the elemental. Tyson was still in his volcanic form, chest heaving from his wounds, but still very alive. I grabbed the handle of my knife and lifted him to his feet with it. He grunted.

  "The thing I've learned about elementals," I told him, "is that no matter how many times I kill them, they keep coming back."

  Tyson chuckled through gritted teeth as I led him to the small pond in the yard. "That's right, motherfucker. I don't know what—"

  I twisted the blade in his chest and he wailed. I was surprised at the resistance against the blade, even inside his body. If it wasn't for the wraith, I never would've been able to pierce his rockskin. But it had been the only way to make this a fair fight. Even in life the santero was nothing more than a lackey.

  I dragged the elemental to the water's edge and shoved him in, retaining my grip on the knife. He splashed into the pond and steam billowed from him. His face tightened as he sat up in the foot of water. I wiped the knife on my jeans and returned it to my belt.

  The elemental roared as the small body of water boiled around him. Instead of resisting, he reverted to his human form. Tyson Roderick, the man, gasped for air and clutched the hole in his chest. With the transformation, he lost most of his power, but he also prevented the water from finishing him off.

  Just as well for my purposes.

  I pulled five road flares from my pouch. One by one I uncapped them and struck the abrasive edge to their tips, setting them ablaze. Circling the perimeter of the water, I staked the flares into the dirt in the form of a five-pointed star.

  "What are you doing?" he demanded.

  "You're not a ghost," I answered. "But you're not unlike them. You're a visitor in this world. Free to come and go, yes, but I'm willing to bet you can be unsummoned just like any punk spirit out there."

  "You motherfucker."

  I smiled and turned to my invisible companion. "Would you do the honors?"

  Two red eyes appeared beside me, followed by a skull and decomposed body. The wraith bowed in mock reverence. Tyson's eyes, no longer obscured by sunglasses, flashed gold.

  "The Spaniard," whispered Kita. She paused her struggles with my zombie to watch.

  I'm not gonna lie. Their expressions made my day. (I love it when a plan comes together.) But nothing goes exactly according to plan.

  Sirens pierced the early morning air. I scanned the dark yard. Everybody was exactly where they were supposed to be. Everyone was accounted for. And then I noticed the figure watching from the second-floor window. Rudi Alvarez watched over us with a cold expression.

  The bastard had called the cops.

  "Finish this," I instructed the wraith.

  I sprinted to the front gate as police cruisers skidded to the curb. Two cars with reds and blues strobing wildly. But these were City of Miami police, not the local Pinecrest outfit. Rudi hadn't called the police, he'd called reinforcements. The DROP team.

  The door swung open and Evan Cross jumped out. He had his usual twin pistols in shoulder holsters, but also wore a bulletproof vest. He directed two more follow cars to surround the property. Then faced the estate entrance.

  We locked eyes through the metal gate. For a moment, all other motion was a blur.

  My friend lowered the radio from his
lips and stared at me in disbelief. He'd told me this moment would come. I hadn't doubted him. I just hadn't counted on it happening so soon.

  My friend's face twisted into a growl. "You son of a—"

  "Stay out of this!" I yelled. "You're gonna get your people hurt."

  The officer riding with him drew his gun on me. "Don't move, scumbag!"

  I backed away from the gate and lifted my hands in the air.

  "Don't shoot, Sergeant," ordered Evan.

  "This guy's dangerous," he replied.

  "I know. Let him come with us peacefully." Evan tightened his eyebrows expectantly. The message was clear. They intended to bring me back in handcuffs or a body bag.

  I checked the wraith's progress at the pond. The ritual was underway. Within the pentagram, Tyson was unable to disrupt it, elemental form or not. But the police were a different story. I needed to buy another five to ten minutes.

  That was time I didn't exactly have.

  "You need to listen to me, Evan," I appealed. "You need to hear me out."

  "Shut up!" ordered his sergeant. "Get down on the ground. Put your hands on the back of your head."

  I stepped away as he reached for the gate. I didn't trust the lock so I staked a latch of shadow to the ground.

  "Open this up," said the sergeant, shaking it back and forth.

  "I can't. I don't know how it works."

  The sergeant kicked the gate in frustration and motioned with his gun. "Then get on the ground!"

  Evan motioned to two officers. "Scale the fence." He drew a pistol. "Garcia and I will cover your entry."

  My friend moved to the gate and trained his gun on me.

  I continued backing away slowly. "Don't do this, Evan."

  "I need you to stop moving, Cisco."

  Sergeant Garcia gave Evan a sideways glance. "What the fuck, Lieutenant? You guys know each other?"

  "No," growled Evan.

  I didn't have time to cover the misstep. "Listen to me. The commissioner's in his house, safe. It's the ones outside I want."

  Evan shook his head slowly. "This isn't the way to do it."

  I checked the elemental in the pond. Tyson was struggling to his feet, waving to law enforcement. I couldn't spot the Spaniard. Damn it. He was probably hiding. A five-hundred-year-old ghost, and he bails when the City of Miami PD shows up. I couldn't believe it. Finishing the banishment ritual trumped discretion.