Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) Read online

  We struggled in a tug-of-war, using might against metal against magic. He pushed into my wall and pulled me closer with his blade. I leaned away and shoved my shadow against his mass. I was hoping the tether would snap, but its magic was strong. Absolute.

  He did wield magic, then.

  "How did you take me?" I asked, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "Ten years ago."

  Tunji snarled, enraged at being unable to reach me. "Death took you," he answered.

  I grunted against his power. I couldn't risk manifesting a shadow because that would dissipate my wall—the main thing keeping me alive.

  "What magic?" I forced out.

  He laughed, growing confident.

  In that moment, I spun around and twisted my arm out of the blade's loop. It shot over my head directly at him. In the same instant, I dispersed the wall of shadow. Suddenly without resistance, Tunji stumbled forward. Off balance and surprised, he raised his hand to catch his blade.

  He missed.

  The rounded knife plunged into the vampire's chest and he tumbled to the floor.

  I watched him on all fours a moment before continuing my interrogation. "I'm not only here to kill you. I want answers, Tunji."

  "As do I," he breathed, yanking the knife from his chest. He let the bloody weapon clatter to the floor. "What did you do with the Horn before you came to us? How was it you broke free? There's no way that houngan could have done it. That fool was weak."

  As Tunji climbed to his feet, the locked door on the wall behind him flew off its hinges and bounced past us. Impressive considering it was designed to open outward.

  "Misconceptions," stated Laurent Baptiste harshly. The voodoo high priest casually strolled inside and smiled a set of double teeth.

  Chapter 39

  Tunji Malu shied away from the new threat to avoid being surrounded. His gaze shifted between me and the leader of the Bone Saints. "This cannot be!" he asserted.

  The high priest grinned and the scar on his neck seemed to smile as well. He had no cigar now, no snake, but he wore his death outfit to full effect. Tuxedo. Top hat. Bony fingers. He stood with resolve now and his voice boomed.

  "I have told you, demon. The Baron refuses to dig my grave!"

  Tunji and I remained tense. It was only Baptiste who appeared calm.

  "I have killed you once," said the vampire. "I can do so again. You are both dead men."

  Laurent countered. "You think a master of death can be so easily killed?"

  Tunji let out a blood-curdling cry and lunged at the houngan. A sliver of shadow grabbed his legs and tugged him back just short of his opponent. As he twisted in frustration, the voodoo priest emptied a bag of powder onto him.

  This wasn't a simple handful. I held the vampire down and Laurent unloaded his entire stockpile. A cloud of dust mushroomed over Tunji Malu. It overtook the houngan as well, but he didn't react.

  The vampire screeched and convulsed, pulling against my tether. I fought to hold him steady as his skin bubbled. Smoke and pieces of burnt flesh filled the air.

  Hidden in dust and smoke, the tugging at my shadow stopped. Tunji's screams weakened to subdued growls. It took a moment for the air to clear. When it did, the vampire was on one knee. Laurent Baptiste stood beside him, with a hooked blade in his stomach and another embedded in his chest. The man stood motionless, without expression.

  "You think," growled Tunji Malu, "that I will cower against pain?" He stood and snarled as bits of his skin curled away from his body. "You can flay me. You can impale me. You can burn me. But I will not succumb."

  The vampire grabbed both blades and pulled the houngan close. He flexed massive triceps and tore his weapons free from the man, slicing him in half in the process.

  I backed away as Tunji buried his face in Baptiste's open chest, slurping and gnawing at the red juices. The vampire watched me from the corner of his eye as he feasted. I didn't interfere.

  With a triumphant smack of his lips, Tunji rose. Refreshed. Already his skin had stopped burning, his eyes shone brighter.

  "You could have been one of us," he said, reaching for his blades. "We offered you glory. But I think I shall taste your blood instead." The vampire stretched his arms wide and then cracked his neck.

  I readied myself for any quick movements. "Is it so satisfying," I asked, "to kill a dead man?"

  Tunji smiled, then quickly shook it away.

  "You were right," I explained. "Baptiste really was dead." Tunji narrowed his eyes and turned to the body. "I know, he had a neat trick or two, but you killed him back in Little Haiti. For a man of his power to go down so easily, well, it's embarrassing really. The truth is, he couldn't pull off a resurrection like that. Nobody can return from the dead."

  The vampire eyed me carefully. "Except for you, is that it?"

  I shrugged. "In his case, anyway. It was me that brought him back. Not alive, but as a zombie."

  He scoffed. "That was no dumb zombie."

  "Sure he was," I said. "An automaton being driven."

  "You did not control that man. I would've seen the tether."

  "You're right on that count. Would've been too obvious. I had help from a bokor on the outside. He smuggled the body out of Bone Saints headquarters." I presented my whistle from my pouch. "I did the hard lifting, of course, but the bokor has other talents."

  The vampire approached me slowly, grinning. "Tricks and shadows. But what have you accomplished? The houngan is still dead. And you are soon to follow."

  He snatched at my neck with a clawed hand but I phased behind him. "It's not him that's important," I said as I backed away. The vampire sneered and turned to follow me. "It's what was done to his blood. Specifically, the blood you drank."

  Tunji Malu froze in place and grunted. He shook his head and wiped his watery eyes. Black lines, like running eyeliner, streamed down his face. He stared at his hands and clenched them several times. When he looked up, black fluid was leaking from his nose.

  Tunji spun and examined Laurent's corpse again. All the red blood painting the floor had now soured. It had darkened to black, like the blood of the fae.

  "What did you do to me?" he demanded, then pitched to the floor.

  I skirted his struggling form in a wide circle. "There are legends of asanbosam being obliterated in the motherland. Impervious to weapons, but devastated by blood-borne disease."

  Tunji hacked up gelatinous gobs of blood.

  "I can kill you quickly," I offered. "If you like. But first I want you to answer me. How did you enslave me? Why did you choose me?"

  "You know this already," he spat, taking a feeble swipe at me with his hand. "It was for the Horn."

  I hissed and a tentacle of shadow slowly unfurled. It leaned over his form and slowly undulated. "Why use me to get it? What does the Horn do? Why do you want it so bad?"

  The vampire's body spasmed, but he remained on his elbows, refusing to back down to the last. "You ask the wrong questions. You ask the wrong person."

  "Who then?"

  He chuckled. "Pray you never know that answer."

  The tentacle slowly wrapped around the asanbosam's neck.

  Tunji broke into a fit of laughter. It abruptly cut off when he hacked out a piece of his lungs. The vampire smeared the blackness away from his mouth but it wouldn't wipe away. It tarnished everything except for his glistening metal teeth.

  I tightened the darkness around his neck so he couldn't breathe. After a moment of struggle, I loosened it and the vampire gasped.

  "No more abstractions, Tunji. I will have my answer or you will suffer. This covey of yours. If you're not its head, who is?"

  "A being of primal power," he answered. "Magic personified."

  My heart fluttered and I backed away. It was crazy to see the fear on Tunji Malu's face. Not of me. Not of death. But of the person he spoke of.

  "Nothing you do to me can compare to his wrath," he continued.

  "Don't bet on it."

  He grunted.
"Even now, he will save me."

  I searched the darkness but no one was near. In a way, that unsettled me more.

  "It doesn't look like it, Tunji."

  He tried to laugh again, but groaned and twisted on the floor. "Then he will avenge me. And you will remain blind and swiping at shadows, Francisco."

  His familiarity enraged me. Such confidence in the face of oblivion. With a wrenching crack, the shadow tentacle snapped the monster's neck. His body wriggled a little then ceased all movement.

  "At least I'll remain," I whispered.

  I stared at the crumpled form of Tunji Malu for some time. I wanted to feel something. Closure or satisfaction. All I got was emptiness.

  I dragged the vampire and splayed him across Laurent Baptiste's body. I snatched another sack from the zombie's waist and poured the powdered contents over them both. There was no sizzling this time. No smoke.

  I studied the spoiled mess on the floor and frowned. This was supposed to have been a moment of victory. Now, I wasn't so sure.

  I struck a match, adjusting my eyes to the small amount of light. Black tears ran down my face. I dropped the stick on the bodies and they erupted in flames. I added Tunji's armor to the fire. His blades and belongings too. It would all burn. Nothing would be left.

  My walk along the abandoned Everglades path had less purpose on the return trip. The stars weren't as bright. As I trudged back to the road, I knew I had killed the man who had killed me. I knew I had avenged my family against the one who had ordered their deaths. But all I could think about were Tunji Malu's last words.

  A primal being.

  I didn't want to believe it.

  Chapter 40

  Chevalier sat on the roof of his van but hopped off when I returned. Between his stoic expression and the face paint, he was hard to read. I figured, by the slow way he approached, he was surprised I was still alive.

  A lone car passed us on the road, bathing us in light for a brief moment. We stared at each other as the engine noise dissolved into the distance, leaving us abandoned once again.

  "The vampire is dead?" he asked.

  I clutched my wounded back and nodded.

  "The bodies?"

  "Burning," I said. The accelerant would make sure nothing but ashes remained of the vampire and the zombie. Our tracks were clear. With luck, or maybe with Evan Cross, the gang murders would be pinned on the bodyguard who disappeared.

  "About the truce," I started to say.

  The bokor smiled. With a quick snap, he produced the ceremonial knife in his hand.

  I took a step back. "Actually, I was hoping we could extend our peace a little longer."

  Jean-Louis Chevalier drew back his arm and flung the knife. I rolled to the side and raised my shield.

  A loud squawk was interrupted by a thud. The knife had missed me. It hadn't been intended to hit. I turned to see the blade embedded in a wooden street post, a beautiful crow impaled right through its mouth.

  "You had a follower," explained the bokor.

  In a matter of seconds, the beautiful sheen on the feathers faded and revealed a desiccated corpse. The bird hardened and dried, looking like it had died a long time ago.

  Chevalier and I blinked dumbly.

  "One of yours?" he asked.

  "No."

  He chuckled. "Perhaps you are mistaken, Suarez." He turned and headed back to his van. He pulled out onto the Everglades street and drove off without another word.

  My gaze stayed fixed on the bird. I didn't know what was left of the bokor's debt to settle, but perhaps he thought I had a few of my own to settle first.

  And he might've been right. This crow—I had seen it before. Back at Martine's house, it had watched me. Picking at her eyeballs. It turned out to be a zombie.

  Expertly crafted, for me to miss it. But it was more than just voodoo.

  Before being dispelled, the crow had appeared robust. Beautiful. Some sort of glamour had been worked on it to hide the decay.

  I'd noticed other traces of glamour back at Martine's cookhouse. Her minions had been hidden in plain sight. The old gal had learned new tricks since back in the day.

  I worked my jaw as I contemplated what the crow meant. Martine had been working with Tunji, but she was a liability in the end. I didn't know if she was a party to my death, but there was some evidence that she had remained my ally.

  I closed my eyes and recalled her last moments of life once more. Her strange words. When it had become apparent that I was alive and Tunji would kill her, she chanted a spell. A riddle, maybe. The crow flies true, ever and only concerned with birdfeed.

  Could she have known I would see through her eyes?

  I supported the bird in one hand. Before I could pull the knife free, the dried carcass crumbled into dust and bones. Most of the remains slipped through my fingers, but I palmed some of the chunks. Of interest was a rusted metal chain wrapped around the knife blade. Attached to it, a sterling silver pendant lay in my palm. I blew away the debris and unveiled a relief of Saint Martin.

  Sneaky bitch.

  Martine had been helping me all along. Even in death, she'd left a cryptic clue in her final moment. Even in her absence, she'd left a servant behind to find me, follow me, and wait vigilantly until the time was right, with a prize in its belly.

  Martine had gifted the pendant to me when we first started our voodoo partnership. She thought it was funny, the similarity of Martin to her name. Of course, the saint has much greater importance. Martin is syncretized with the High Baron, the patron from which we both drew our voodoo powers. This was my original voodoo fetish.

  In this case, however, the sterling silver pendant had a different significance. I'm generally a patient person but, given the circumstances, I jumped in the Fiat and sped off.

  After my last two visits to the cemetery, I couldn't deny dreading my return. The ambushes by Bone Saints shouldn't be a worry anymore (at least not for a while), but conversing with my father, learning the things I'd done—they'd shaken me much more than gunfire ever could.

  I passed the statue of Saint Martin at the entrance. It held the same visage as the one on my pendant. Even though it had been used for spellcraft, it was a Catholic symbol. My mother had appreciated that I wore it. Even in the absence of my body, my mother, I was sure, would have had it buried in my casket.

  Something was in this cemetery, and it was about damn time I found out what.

  I went to my grave with a shovel this time. No more worms. No more magic. Sometimes you have to do things the old-fashioned way.

  After digging for hours, the shovel rapped against my coffin. The worm could only have reported life or death within. I should've realized it couldn't have seen personal keepsakes. Symbols from the family. I admit, I was curious.

  When I opened the lid, a bull horn rested on a single pillow. It was brown and white and capped with metal at both ends. It would've appeared entirely plain except for the gold plating running along its length. Ornate pictographs of objects and figures were etched in the precious metal. The symbols defied explanation.

  I'd been expecting a musical horn or something. Curious indeed. And I think there's a saying about curiosity.

  I swallowed nervously and picked up the Horn of Subjugation. I could've sworn it hummed.

  I sighed and studied the large pile of dirt beside the hole in the ground. I knew Tunji's death hadn't completed my business, no matter how much I wished it so. I'd at least figured I was in a place where I could slow down and breathe. Reflect. I thought I could take time to put the pieces back together.

  Yeah, right. My life was a series of loose ends.

  There was no telling what the Horn was capable of, but I knew it spelled danger. Just because I had finally recovered it didn't mean the trouble would stop coming my way. In fact, the Horn would probably attract it. The smart play was to rebury the artifact and forget all about it.

  I grunted and tucked the Horn in my lap. In its place on the white pillow, I ge
ntly set down my Saint Martin pendant. It was meant to be buried with me. It probably had been until Martine dug it up and hid the artifact. I knew, since I was alive again, that my mother would have preferred I keep the pendant, but that wasn't me anymore. I had to bury the old Cisco Suarez.

  I was a loner now. A black-magic outlaw.

  Yup, just a few seconds ago, I thought I was through the worst of it. Now, I knew it was just beginning. That was okay with me. Maybe it was time I finally did the world some good.

  With a checkered past and a decade of bad deeds, I had a lot to atone for. He walks alone but always has a home. The streets of Miami were my new home, and I had plenty of walking left to do.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book is a solitary venture most of the time, but I couldn't have done it without help. Special thanks to City of Miami Police Captain Dan Kerr, Deputy Commander, Criminal Investigations Section. I took liberties with some details but he kept me (mostly) honest. Thanks to my editor, Philip Newey, who saved me from featuring a "colander" of whiskey in one scene. (I swear, I usually know what words mean.) And, of course, I need to give props to James Egan. Judge my books by his covers. Please.

  About the Author

  I'm Domino Finn, hardened urban fantasy author and contributor to several award-winning video games. This is the first book in the Black Magic Outlaw series, but more are on the way. Join my reader group to be notified as soon as the sequel hits. Shadow Play will be released early 2016.

  If you liked Dead Man, know that your kind words are vital to my success. Really. Please leave a review on Amazon, even if it's only a line or two.