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  As I finished the sweep of the remaining emails, I found a short note of assurance from Rudi that their investments were not illegal or traceable. I wondered why the latter was necessary if this first was true, but the machinations of the rich were beyond me. What struck me was who the email was addressed to. A Detective Cross.

  As in Evan, my best friend. Worried about the exposure of his investments.

  I should've known. The nice house and car on a cop's salary. Evan as much as admitted that his boss may have skirted the law in some dealings, but he'd never owned up to his involvement. Memories of my squeaky-clean buddy shriveled like a Polaroid under a flame. Evan Cross had always wanted to be a cop. Had he counted on this as well?

  I knew some of his involvement was my fault. He'd gone looking into my death. Tunji Malu had warned him away, threatening Emily and my daughter in the process. It was hard to blame Evan for backing down. But I was less sympathetic about him jumping on the Express to Corruption Town.

  I jerked my head up and squinted at the door. Strange. I thought I'd heard something. Just Cisco Suarez, the shadow charmer, scared of his own shadow. I really needed to get some sleep.

  Before I could get back to the computer, something on a wall shelf caught my eye. A bright red rose sat between pictures of Rudi and his family. I approached it and realized it was folded paper. Origami.

  Had it moved?

  I shook my head. If there was a poltergeist in the building, possessing a paper rose would've been a useless gesture. I rubbed my eyes and went back to the desk.

  A deep voice, firm and deliberate, interrupted my thoughts.

  "You."

  I turned to the doorway in surprise. Tyson Roderick cracked his knuckles as a twisted smirk tightened his face. He delicately plucked off his sunglasses and stepped through the doorway, blocking it off entirely. He folded his shades and placed them on the desk, as if waiting for an excuse to exit my lips, but all I could think about were his glowing red eyes.

  Chapter 12

  "You're not human," I said bluntly.

  The head of security peeled off his black jacket and folded it over the chair opposite the desk. He didn't say anything, but the smoke emanating from his collar was enough.

  "A creature of few words then. I can respect that."

  As I watched, his black skin hardened and cracked. A smooth flow of orange filled the new lines, like rivers of molten grout between the tiles of a mosaic.

  I'd never seen a volcanic elemental before. I had now.

  Elementals aren't from the Earthly Steppe. Nor do they emerge from the Nether. They're not really connected to our world like most creatures are. And believe me, there's a lot more than just humans out there. Monsters of all shapes and sizes. Monsters like Tunji Malu and the anansi trickster friend of his. But seeing Tyson in his true form brought to mind the vampire's last words. I was looking for a primal being, and elementals fit the bill.

  Elementals are old things born of magic itself. They reside in a world completely foreign to ours. Unlike animists who draw on the Intrinsics through spirits, elementals are beings of pure, exotic energy who animate physical matter to gain form.

  But their matter is fluid. Magical. And that makes them extremely dangerous.

  "What do you have to do with this?" I demanded.

  The vampire's last words had implicated not just himself, but a group of unknown size. The Covey. They were responsible for my downfall. And, according to him, at their head? A primal being.

  Tyson grunted and shoved the desk aside like it was a card table. He clasped two hands together and hammered them down at me. I thrust my left arm above my head. His fists cracked against the Norse tattoo lining my forearm. Blue sparks from the impact showered down on us.

  I'd underestimated his force, however. While unhurt, I was forced to the ground. Instead of countering with a haymaker of my own, I used my hand to steady myself.

  The elemental spread his elongated fingers and tried to clasp them around me. I phased into the darkness and slid forward a few feet, right between his legs. I materialized behind him and drew the shadow into my fist. As Tyson spun around, I greeted him with a body blow.

  His mass barely moved. It was like bumping against a vending machine. He used my confusion to backhand my shoulder. I flew onto the displaced desk, slid over the top, and landed on the floor on the other side (along with everything else that had been on top of it).

  I coughed, dreading the bruise I'd have in the morning. But like Newton being beamed with the apple, I had an epiphany.

  Force equals mass times acceleration.

  Gathering the entire floor of shadow, I sank hooks into the wooden desk and drew it back slightly, like a spring. I grunted with the effort, and Tyson chuckled. Until I launched the heavy piece of furniture at him like a cannonball.

  I didn't know if he was unfamiliar with my spellcraft, or if I'd pushed myself harder than usual, but the blow had the intended effect. The elemental—a solid, hulking mass of rock and magma—crashed through the far wall and into the adjoining office.

  I stood and dusted off my shoulder. "Now that's more like it."

  I threaded the shadow around the crumpled desk and pulled it away from the wall, revealing the layers of drywall and snapped support beams Tyson had bashed through. I ducked into the next room, an office much like Rudi's, and steadied myself against the elemental returning to his feet.

  "I'll ask again," I said. "What's your business here?"

  Elementals are mostly intelligent. Sometimes even cunning. The thing is, they interact with the world much differently than we do. They don't concern themselves with the affairs of man. Unless summoned and forced into service, they have no reason to.

  Tyson only cocked his head.

  "Look," I urged, doing my best to come off less pissed, "if someone is binding you to service, I can help you."

  He grunted. Great vocabulary, this one. Then he stretched his jaw wide. A stream of lava ejected from his mouth.

  I phased into the shadow, but the glowing rock burned as it neared. Like I said, the elemental wasn't a purely material being. Its essence reeked of magic, and my shadow can only avoid what is physical. Clumps of molten rock splattered against me like glue.

  I ducked and rolled away as it seared my flesh, managing to avoid the brunt of the eruption. On my knees, I ripped my tank top away to mitigate the contact, but my side was charred.

  The elemental laughed again. "No man binds me, shadow charmer."

  I gritted my teeth as my thickened skin sizzled. "Communication. See? The key to every healthy relationship."

  If I was hoping for a breakthrough, I'd have been disappointed. The elemental seethed as he watched me.

  He'd recognized my magic. Recognized me. And as I followed his projectile and watched it clump and cool against the wall, I in turn saw something familiar myself. The lava dried into the same rocky formation I'd chipped at with my knife.

  "You were on the boat with us," I said softly.

  That meant the elemental was telling the truth. No summoning spell could last a decade. For whatever reason, Tyson Roderick had his own motivations for being here. Just my luck, an elemental with an agenda.

  "What's your link to the vampire?"

  "Tunji wanted you in service," he confided. "But I would've killed you."

  I pulled my hand from the shadow and lined up my sawed-off shotgun with his shocked face. "You should have."

  I wasn't sure what kind of shell I was packing—I hadn't bothered to check—but I knew for damn sure it wasn't normal ammunition. I custom made my own shells. And I often packed a little something extra with the buckshot.

  I pulled the trigger and the hammer of the old weapon clacked. Two impotent sparks jumped sideways like the last two sailors abandoning ship. Then... nothing.

  A misfire.

  With a quick motion, the elemental clamped onto my outstretched hand. I tried to phase into the darkness but his hand held me firmly to the material
world. He pulled me into a bear hug.

  Surprisingly, his body wasn't scalding. I suppose that's how his clothes didn't burn off. But I could feel the heat below the surface, ready to bubble up at a moment's notice.

  Temperature was the least of my concerns. He squeezed me with unnerving force. My muscles strained but I couldn't free myself. My ribs began to buckle.

  I searched the room frantically. My shadow magic was weak against a being of his magnitude, and necromancy only worked on the living and the dead. I wasn't sure Tyson Roderick was either.

  Then I saw it. The water cooler in the corner. I was incapacitated, slowly being crushed, but the shadow was everywhere. A fiendish claw of black sliced the plastic jug open and flung it against the elemental. Water splashed across his back and my face. He screamed and released me. Steam enveloped us. It scalded my face as I fell away.

  I scurried back on the floor and watched the molten orange core of his neck harden. It faded to an igneous brown. Tyson stiffened slightly. As he roared in pain, his darkened flesh cracked some more.

  I stuffed my empty shotgun back into its hole and took to my feet. I called the shadow to me, remembering the extra effort I had used with the desk. It drained me, felt like a bit of my life was losing its light, but I knew this was the best chance to smack him down. So I drew the blackness to me, and it seemed to fill my lungs.

  My opponent wasn't so easily marked. He bent down toward me, like a charging bull. Instead of coming at me, he flexed. His screams took on a new magnitude. An unimaginable battle cry. His eyes and mouth flashed orange.

  The smoke returned. It thickened as the brown rivers in his skin melted again. The elemental was overheating itself. Restoring itself. His clothes fell away in embers. Magma rippled underneath the shifting rock plates of his flesh.

  His cry continued, reaching a fever pitch. He flared brighter with each second, lighting the room in hellfire.

  "Oh shit," was my perfectly acceptable response.

  I reconfigured the shadow around me into a barrier. It hadn't worked on the wraith, but it was my best idea at the time.

  Scratch that. My second best idea. My best was to turn tail and run.

  I raced from the office and down the corridor, wanting to take this fight outside, where I could maneuver. That had been my downfall on the boat.

  Behind me, the elemental barreled ahead. He slammed against my shadow wall, thrusting through it as easily as a bull charging through a matador's cape. Tyson was supercharged now.

  I ran into the main hall, considering exiting through the front, but I didn't want to put the security guards in danger. It made the most sense to leave the way I came.

  The problem was, I was busy doing things like avoiding walls and using doorways. You know, people things. The volcanic elemental decided he didn't need such comforts. He leveled walls as he ran through them, trying to cut me off.

  He was gonna beat me to the exit.

  I spun around in the hall as he came into view, panting hard. Tyson was an enraged force of nature, all rock and fire, a hundred feet from me at most. Instead of running, I goaded him on.

  He grinned, fell to all fours, and loped my way.

  I unzipped my belt pouch and dug out a 7-11 lighter. My thumb flicked the plastic button over and over, but the cheap thing didn't light. Tyson Roderick bore down on me and all I could do was flip the lighter over and shake it. Then I upturned it and tried again.

  Somewhat anticlimactically, a quarter-inch ghost of a flame emerged, but I'll take my wins however they come.

  With seconds to spare, I vaulted onto a potted plant and stretched the lighter above my head. The fire came in direct contact with the sprinkler head, and the waterworks came out.

  The elemental was showered with rank spray. He missed a step and tumbled head over heels, roaring.

  I didn't wait to see the result. I made for the exit, disappointed by the lack of omnipresent showers. You think the whole building goes up at once, you see, but the movies lie to you. Each sprinkler head triggers individually due to heat. So I ran and lit every sprinkler on the way manually. It wasn't Bruce Willis cool, but it covered my tracks.

  Within a minute I made it through the metal door I'd entered by. I rested my back against the building exterior and slid to the floor, soaking wet and aching all over. Without my shirt on, I examined the tender flesh along my side. It was burned to hell but I wasn't worried. Whatever spellcraft had been worked into me gifted me with enhanced healing and toughness. Maybe the Covey had splurged for the deluxe zombie package, but I wasn't complaining. I was in a world of pain, but I'd survive.

  As the water continued streaming inside, I heard some whistles and yells out front. The guards were at full alert. No doubt the fire department would be here in minutes. And here I was on the backside of an old island key, between Biscayne Bay and City Hall.

  I needed to sneak back to the street. And fast.

  As I stood, the metal door beside me nearly swung off its hinges and slammed into the wall. Tyson Roderick limped out. A sad, faded version of himself, anyway.

  The smoke cascaded off him in thick waves. His exterior was hardened and brittle. Nearly all the light had fled his molten core. Each step took an effort to keep himself upright. After a few of them, he realized he wasn't alone. He turned to me with fire in his eyes and growled.

  Maybe not my most debonair moment, but I screamed back. Not a frightful scream, or a whiny one like fighting kids might fake. My scream was a force. I imagined I had war paint on and was up against a technologically superior enemy, but I was going to meet him head on with no regard for my life. As sick and tired as I was of this day, that was a pretty accurate way to describe what I was feeling, too.

  In a flash, the shadow gloved my hand. I knocked Tyson in the jaw. No longer centered or at full strength, he stumbled backward. I punched him again and pushed him back more. I got my left hand in the action, jabbing him repeatedly in the gut. Every blow displaced the elemental. Every feint made him cower. The fire in his eyes weakened like my cheap plastic lighter that was low on gas.

  The elemental was now on the run. Only he'd lost his chance to escape.

  I pounded him until we were halfway across the yard, then cloaked my entire body in shadow. He wanted to charge me? I was gonna show him what a charge was. Tyson saw my intent and, to his credit, came at me. My boot kicked off the grass and we careened into each other with explosive force.

  Only he was the one being exploded.

  The volcanic elemental jolted backward like he'd been hit by a bus. I wrapped my arms around him and kept barreling ahead, just another day pushing a truck in the Strong Man Competition. Step after step, we covered a lot of ground, until our grapple landed us both in the ocean.

  His cry was deafening, but only for a moment. I forced him under, ignoring the steam blistering my fingers. The salt water bubbled. Tyson Roderick hardened and broke apart in my hands. The rocks sunk to the floor, reverted once again to an inert substance.

  When I finally faced the shore, the fire trucks and police were arriving. I was alone now, my adversary just a crumble of stones in my hand. I stuffed the largest in my pocket. Then I swam along the coast towards my truck.

  Chapter 13

  My pickup rumbled north, away from Coconut Grove, away from the madness. I was a little beat up, sure, but it was embarrassing to admit that the brief swim had exhausted me more than anything. I thought my brand new muscles would've made physical activity less taxing. Apparently Zombie Cisco hadn't done regular laps at the Y.

  The truck sputtered, dangerously low on gas. A quick fill-up rectified the emergency, but the tank only took six gallons. When I started the pickup again, the gas gauge didn't go up.

  Great, less than a week and already something was broken. Whatever. Better it than me. Besides, it still ran.

  Back on the road, I headed into Little Havana. My old neighborhood. I passed by the family house, like I always did. The one I had shared with my parents an
d sister, Seleste. But none of us lived there anymore.

  I drove to their new home, several blocks further. Saint Martin's, the cemetery where they were buried. It was closed now, of course. Usually I snuck in, but tonight I was ready to pass out. I just sat in the truck, gazing out the broken window, wondering when I'd be lucky enough to see my family again.

  Maybe I didn't want to. The last time I'd gotten too close, I had a run in with my dad. His mutilated corpse had dug through the dirt and attempted to drag me under. No biggie. Just your garden-variety revenge for my murdering him.

  That, by the way, was exactly why I was skirting police and breaking into City Hall. Dead hit men didn't have a lot of sway with the law. But if I was proof of anything, it was that determination is a hell of a thing. Ten years is a long time to wait for justice, but I was getting closer.

  The truck was slow to start again. I wondered if all the stops and starts were taxing the battery. I gave the engine extra gas, imagining it needed a stretch, then backed out.

  A black pool of oil had formed while I'd been idle. Great.

  I eased the truck back onto the street and drove slowly. Just like a tank, I thought again. Yeah, right. After two short blocks, my tank was sputtering and overheating.

  I could get by without a gas gauge, but I sure as hell needed oil.

  I'd never make it to the Everglades, but I had to lie low tonight. In a world with few friends, my option was obvious, if imperfect.

  My childhood home was owned by strangers now, but one person still came around the neighborhood. Milena Fuentes, my sister's childhood friend. Like me, she didn't live in Little Havana anymore, but she visited all the time.

  I parked outside her old property, on the grass between the street and the chain-link fence, and kicked my alligator boots onto the passenger seat. I passed out so fast I don't remember it.

  Rapping on the metal roof of my pickup jolted me awake. I'd reversed position in my sleep, using the passenger seat as a pillow. A figure leaned over me through the broken window, thankfully blocking the harsh sunlight. It was Milena.