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  The idea had been to use the idyllic pond as a mirror. To draw my poltergeist into the open and banish it to the Murk in the same spot I'd prepped for the elemental. With the pond dried up and filled with hardened lava, the corpse was a hasty improvisation.

  As the santero had done in life, I had attempted to capture the rogue spirit in a vessel. It wasn't unlike the various ghost traps I'd personally made. (Except for the dead body part, of course.) The zombie magic had been dispelled. It should've been textbook necromancy.

  Now I began to doubt the efficacy of my trap. Being in a cage was relative. Is it still a prison if it has legs? The santero was a deanimated body. It wasn't supposed to get up and walk. And it certainly wasn't supposed to talk.

  But it did. It spoke in a voice that sounded like a thousand overlapping whispers. A flood of words and thought, yet crisp somehow. Sharpened. The creepiness was magnified by the hoodie drawn over an invisible head, and the shoulder stump gesturing as if the arm was still there.

  "The hand," it whispered, pointing at me. Then its finger fell on Kita. "And the head. How they bicker."

  The paper mage stood in a wide stance, origami figures readied between slender fingers. The Spaniard hung to the side, red eyes waiting. And I wondered how I ever got myself into this position. Plans, am I right?

  The four of us considered each other. No one knew what to expect or who to trust. A truce. A Mexican standoff. I trumped the others in that I had an ally at least, but how much did I really know of the Spaniard? It was impossible to fully rely on anyone.

  It reminded me of a four-player game of Risk. Multiple powers facing uncertainty, knowing the first two to fight would likely eliminate each other. So we each waited cautiously, leery of making the first move. The wrong move.

  "What am I the head of?" asked Kita.

  The faceless head (or headless face) scanned the surroundings and swept a phantom limb over the yard. "Why, all of this. But of course, I am speaking primarily about myself."

  As he spoke, a glow as green as lime welled up within him. First it was merely light reflected off the interior of his hood, but the ether grew in substance. Each passing moment gave the ghost additional solidity.

  The police unit at the gate raised a commotion. Now that the weather had returned to normal, they had sight lines on us. They'd regrouped. Even worse, they had backup. Flashing police lights circled the entire block. Men in SWAT uniforms pounded against the front gate. No ghostly force held it closed anymore, but the twisted metal and tangled vegetation still prevented access.

  It wouldn't be long before they broke through.

  I set my jaw. "We have common enemies," I explained to the ghost. "The elemental. The paper mage. The Obeah man and the vampire. Your murder was the Covey's doing."

  "Bah!" he cried. A green luminance poured from his ripped sleeve and formed an arm. He stepped closer as his head solidified. It was still a bulbous mass, but I could almost make out a mouth opening and closing with speech. "I do not know all your names, but I recognize you, shadow charmer. Did you think I wouldn't?"

  "I was their thrall," I asserted. "A mindless assassin. I didn't know who I was killing. I couldn't control it."

  "Then you are weak," he proclaimed, his voice gaining an edge. Sounding more human. I thought of the wraith's words. He is only a man.

  But that was his history. His past. I knew then and there that the spirit had graduated from a poltergeist to a full-on revenant. A corpse animated by spirit. He was feeling out the world. Establishing a stronger grip. Every minute gave him surer footing.

  "You will pay for your actions, Francisco, whether you intended them or not." The revenant turned to Kita. "But it breaks my heart dearly to discover my unmaker." A chunk of metal siding rattled loose from the junk pile and levitated in the air.

  Kita spread her fingers. Her origami minions flared like miniature suns. "Why's that?" she sneered.

  "Because, my dear, you were my favorite daughter."

  She widened her eyes. "Dad?"

  The ghost directed his green limb forward like a cavalry captain signaling a charge. The slab of metal siding flew forward. I rolled away, but the blow was meant for Kita.

  The paper mage furrowed her brows and dropped her foldings in the grass. The heavy object knocked her from her feet like a wrecking ball. Kita Mariko toppled to the floor.

  And that's when it came to me. All the little mysteries were forming an orderly line and finally explaining themselves. The poltergeist, this revenant, was an animist. Like the Obeah man on Star Island. These ghosts were stronger than usual because my victims had been amongst the occult community.

  But now I understood this spirit's manipulation of objects. The thrust of his ghostly arm gave it away. He was a telekinetic. A manipulator of everything physical. That's how he'd been able to spin so many objects together in perfect synchronicity.

  My suspicions were confirmed when the revenant drew his glowing arm behind him and lifted a rusted shovel. With ghostly fingers he pulled on the Intrinsics and rocketed the garden tool at me.

  I phased into the shadow and let it fly harmlessly through me, then rematerialized.

  "And you call me weak," I scoffed. "Flinging trash around isn't gonna get you anywhere with me."

  When the spirit had been immaterial, while it was still a poltergeist, it resonated a cold energy that assaulted me even in shadow. Now? All that energy was contained in a body, in a prison. Sure, the mage could still manipulate the physical world, but shadow was anything but.

  I smiled defiantly as shards of glass rose from the pile and flew through me.

  "I'm beyond your reach now," I said. "But I don't think the same's true of you anymore."

  I packed shadow onto my fist like brass knuckles and belted the revenant in the stomach. He keeled over and I brought my knee to his face. The hood fell away but my kick passed through his ghostly head. Note to self: only attack his physical body.

  The ghost countered with a punch of his own. He caught me in the side with a green fist and sent me to the ground.

  I grimaced in the dirt. Okay, so he hadn't been completely declawed. But I had an edge on him that he could no longer ignore.

  I swept my legs into his and brought him down to my level. The wraith watched with amusement as we grappled. I held off his burning touch with my armored tattoo and squeezed in a couple of jabs before the front gate screeched open.

  "Everybody freeze!" ordered the raiding officers.

  The Spaniard vanished but whispered in my ear. "It's now or never, brujo."

  I strained against the santero's body, locked my eyes on his open wound covered in blood. He followed my gaze with confusion.

  Evan Cross yelled above the din of combat boots. "I want hands in the air now!"

  A pale light gathered over the yard as dawn readied. The gloom of night withered and the shadows disappeared. It was twilight, the span of time between day and night, when all the shadows left the world for a few minutes. Everything held light differently and seemed to move in slow motion.

  I briefly traded glances with my friend behind a troop of SWAT uniforms.

  "Brujo," urged the wraith. "It's time to return him to the Murk."

  The ethereal head of the revenant boomed in laughter. "You lost your chance, shadow charmer, as soon as you gave me this body. Your door is closed."

  I checked my flank. Kita Mariko lay motionless on the ground, her face peaceful for the first time. Innocent, even. A bloody husk of metal rested beside her. I grimaced, wondering if I'd lost my chance at revenge.

  Boots converged on us, rifles raised.

  I turned to the ghost.

  "You're wrong. The body is the door."

  I gripped both shoulders and heaved him in the air, rolling to place him between me and the police. The SWAT team opened fire. Bullets ripped into the santero's corpse. I pressed my hand into his wound and closed my eyes as the Spaniard completed the connection.

  It was just a blink, but th
at's what it took for the world to disappear.

  Chapter 34

  The Murk isn't meant for living humans.

  It's a vile place. Twisted into perpetual gloom. Never night, never day. A colorless imitation of the material world.

  The grounds around us were now a barren plane of dirt. The brick manor was gone. The police, absent. I struggled on all fours, disoriented by the harsh transition.

  I felt like a sea cucumber soaked in lighter fluid. Inside out and discombobulated. Coming here was unnatural, and something I couldn't have pulled off myself. My job was to trap the spirit. The wraith's was to bring us here.

  I was starting to really hate my bright ideas.

  Before me stood a man. His features were stark but bloated. Blackened yet lively. He was no doubt a perversion of his original self, but I wondered if I recognized him.

  Was it possible I remembered anything from my time as a hit man? Did a portion of my brain harbor the rote memories of subconscious, like a hard drive waiting for access?

  It hurt to consider it. Then again, doing anything around here hurt.

  The Spaniard's gear clunked against his breastplate as he strode between us. He was more real here, if that made sense. More solid. He was still desiccated, still undying, but long hair streamed from beneath his helm. I missed his features because he stood with his back to me, but his intentions were clear.

  "What is this?" growled our enemy. The animist raised both arms above his head to tap into his spellcraft.

  The Spaniard answered by scraping his side-sword free from its sheath and raising it to the sky.

  "Fool!" cried the ghost, but there was fear in his proud voice.

  The conquistador cleaved the man in two. As easily, I thought, as first contact with the natives had been five hundred years prior. A green blast of energy escaped the ghost and washed over us.

  I collapsed, nearly delirious. My breathing was strained. No sign of the man remained. The wraith had done as promised and defeated him. It scared me how completely he had succeeded. On the outside, the wraith couldn't directly affect spirits. But here, in the Murk, he was an unstoppable force of nature.

  And I'd let him take me here.

  The rapping of Spanish boots paused beside me. A gloved hand grabbed my arm. The open fingers were still dead but not so withered. There was strength in them. The sword slid back into its sheath and my companion dragged me along the ground. I wanted to pull away, but I couldn't.

  It wasn't the most graceful sight. I sure as hell couldn't function in this place, much less fight. It was worse than the sluggishness of a dream. Foreign and unnatural. The noise and visuals suffocated me. In truth, I wasn't sure how long I could last.

  And then, in a flash, we were in Miami again. The real world. Blocks away from the commissioner's house, where my truck was parked. I leaned against the wheel of the pickup. Alone. Shivering.

  "Come on, Cisco," I urged myself, recovering my faculties. "Get out of here."

  I couldn't move, though. Breathing, taking in the calm of the world, it was all I could manage for a moment.

  "Get out of here," I repeated.

  I stood and checked my belt. My knife. The Horn. It was all there. I started the pickup and sped out of Pinecrest, leaving the clusterfuck of officers behind us. They could have their upscale village.

  But they'd won, in a way. It should've been over. The whole thing could have been over, if I'd played my cards right. But instead of feeling at ease, my mind raced.

  Tyson Roderick was still alive. He'd been vital to my capture and death, and he was still out there. An elemental. A primal being who was nearly invincible here. I needed to fall back and figure out how to take him on.

  As for Rudi Alvarez, I'd exposed myself to him. He was just a shadow puppet, but that didn't render him toothless. I was a known quantity now. That meant he was gonna throw everything he had at me, including his own personal police force.

  Including Evan. My leg was still bleeding from his bullet. His shot wasn't meant to be fatal, but it was an escalation. How long until my best friend gave me up? I needed to avoid him now. His wife. And my daughter, too.

  I didn't know if that was an option.

  And then there was Kita Mariko. I couldn't tell for sure, but I'd bet money she was still alive. I knew to go after her now. And that felt right. Animist against animist. A fair fight. An answer finally in my grasp. And, with any luck, the whole thing would end with her.

  I'd been one of the Covey's hands, wielding my spellcraft as their weapon. Kita Mariko was the head. At least, that's what the poltergeist had said.

  I was glad to put that spirit behind me, at least. But another part of me wanted to investigate him further. He was Kita's father. How did that fit in? And I could've sworn he grew more familiar as his form finalized.

  I cursed and punched the steering wheel, blaring the horn in the quiet morning. I'd lost my chance at revenge. And I'd been so close. For all I knew, my enemies would now disappear in the wind.

  But I had new information. I trusted their cockiness to keep them from running. The Covey had ten years of plans to complete. Besides, after a decade without vengeance, what was a few more days to me? A week? It couldn't get any worse than that. (Right?)

  I knew I'd get her. Eventually. I'd get every last one of them.

  In my rearview mirror, two red orbs burned into existence. The grinning skull of the Spaniard followed.

  "A bargain struck," stated the wraith.

  Truth be told, after seeing the Spaniard in the Murk, I was a little unsettled by his presence. I'd witnessed his confident ease as he mowed down a persistent opponent. I wasn't sure what else he was capable of, but I knew he was more powerful than he let on.

  "Don't even think of being freed yet," I warned.

  The Spaniard settled into the back seat as the sun peeked over the horizon. "Was my service inadequate?"

  I sighed. "You know, I wasn't sure if I could count on you back there."

  "I did as I said."

  "True enough. But the deal was to set things right. To serve justice. I don't know that another ghost won't come at me tomorrow. And Kita and Tyson are still around. And there's more..."

  The teeth of my companion chattered impatiently. "There's always more. Service into such pursuits is endless."

  I sniggered. "That's the deal, isn't it? Service? The binding to the Horn. The Taíno pictographs. It's all part of your curse. You're destined to serve the bearer of the Horn no matter what bargains they make, aren't you?"

  The conquistador waited a tense minute before turning sourly to me. "Curses can be skirted, brujo. You have firsthand experience of this. And things are not turning out well for your enemies."

  I wondered if that was a threat or a mere statement of fact.

  "I get your point," I conceded. "I did make a promise. And I'll do my best to keep it, but I can't be responsible for more evil in the world."

  The wraith didn't reply, letting the silence speak to his mood. I considered his past. His true intentions. He was a useful ally but I was no monster. I couldn't let him skew my morals.

  "The Covey wants you for a reason," I said. "And you have more power than you've shown me. I'm not sure how fair our bargain is, even after I changed the terms."

  His eyes burned brightly. "What is not equitable, brujo?"

  "You tell me. Since I've found the Horn, my life has been nothing but trouble. Protecting the Horn got me ten years of zombie service. It got my family killed. Compromised my best friend. And then there's the Wings of Night. I'm using arcane spellcraft I have no business knowing. Not to mention the weakening of the Murk, as you called it. My victims have been coming after me with uncanny precision. The corpse of my own father attacked me, yet you casually deny it all."

  I heaved excitedly as I finished, figuring I had the apparition where I wanted him. Answers, finally.

  "All those instances have reasonable explanations, whether they are known or not."

&nb
sp; "That's not good enough," I snapped. "You've been nothing but bad news. For all I know, the Taíno locked you in that Horn for good reason."

  My companion was silent. I wanted him to tell me what he was in life. To confess his sins. Instead, he studied me unnervingly. Only when I was about to explode did he finally respond.

  "You blame me for your recent luck," he said through yellowed teeth. "Once you discovered the Horn, everything soured. Yes? But what absolves you of your part? It was your choice to seek out the artifact. I was not a party to that. We are both necromancers. The spirits would haunt you regardless of my presence. They are drawn to you. As was I."

  I turned to him.

  "In a sense," he continued, "one could say it was you who summoned me. Consider, brujo, that Opiyel is a guide for spirits. An escort to the land of the dead. The flesh you handle is steeped in voodoo and ritual, but the shadow inside you manipulates a greater energy. Only when you understand your true power will you realize that you are the cause of your life's events. Not me."

  I watched the road with a scowl. I couldn't say why Opiyel had chosen me. I'd just known voodoo wasn't my life's calling. Something about the shadow felt right.

  The wraith had hinted at my link to the Taíno before. I'm Hispanic. Cuban. No Indigenous heritage that I know of. But the Caribbean was shaped by generations of conquest. Maybe something of my spellcraft was born there.

  Maybe I had compelled the Horn to me. The Covey used me to get it for a reason. Maybe this was my doing after all.

  But the wraith had also chosen to stay with me. Ten years ago, when Martine and I could've sold the Horn, it was the Spaniard who'd warned against allowing the artifact into evil hands. Whatever I would've ultimately done, the Spaniard chose his path.

  Had that been altruism on his part? Or was I simply more useful to him? The bonds of necromancy or the Taíno could've played a part, but there was no real way to know. Yet I had already entered a pact that set my hair on edge. Nothing would stop my vengeance, which meant that, one day, I'd be obligated to free my ghostly companion from his prison.