Urban Enemies

by Kelley Armstrong

  I knelt beside one of them and washed my hand in the pumping blood. I ran the wet palm down my face, over my closed eyes, and brushed it clean with my tongue.

  "Tunji!" cried Jaja, lifting his fetish in alarm.

  I spun on my knees and let my blade fly. The circle of steel sliced through the air at the captain of the boat. A third man, his pistol already raised and ready to fire, lasered onto my center mass. A twitch of a finger away.

  He wasn't fast enough.

  The open part of the blade slipped around the man's neck. I closed the fingers of my empty hand and the weapon froze midair, hooked around the man like a collar. An invisible tether of magic led from it to my palm. I pulled violently. The boatman dropped the pistol and it lurched through the air, pitching over the gunwale and flying into my hands.

  "That would've been a mistake," I growled.

  I checked the boat. A well-used and inconspicuous thing. It didn't look like a drug dealer ride. The stern displayed the vessel's name: Risky Proposition. I liked that.

  "You're going to take us to your boss," I said.

  The captain swallowed hard and jerked his head up and down. "Okay," he said. "Then you let me go."

  "Relax," I assured. "You have my personal guarantee that I won't kill you."

  I smiled at Jaja and Pim as they rolled the bodies into the water and boarded the boat. I unhooked my blade from around the captain's neck and shoved him into Pim's headlock. Then I punted a loose head far into the bay. It skipped once like a stone.

  The captain took us to Star Island, one of several man-made islands between the beach and the mainland, a place affordable only for the rich and famous. A high-profile kind of place, but one with the luxury of bushy yards and privacy-seeking residents. Mansions lined the water, each with a private dock. Most had yachts and cruisers much nicer and newer than the Risky Proposition.

  That's when I realized the boat was a throwaway. I wouldn't be surprised if the house we were headed to was as well.

  "Right there," called the captain.

  Many of the houses were well lit, but not the one he pointed to. The accent lights on the lawn were dark. The sconces on the outside walls, too. Some ambient flashing within the large first-floor windows, but dim. Only a second-floor bedroom had a proper light on.

  They were keeping attention away from the house. From the dock. That kind of darkness would've worked against them, too, if it wasn't for the bright moon. We could've snuck right to their doorstep in the absence of moonlight. Instead, a silverish azure highlighted everything with a monotone glow. I easily spotted the pacing guards. Confirmation this was the right place.

  I considered docking elsewhere but there was a good chance we had already been spotted from a distance. Besides, my patience was wearing thin.

  "Cut the engine," I said.

  The boat went silent and the captain guided us to the dark wood structure. Before we stopped, two men approached from the side of the house. I fixed the spotlight on them, keeping it low enough not to alert anyone inside the home but high enough to blind the guards.

  Without bothering to face him, I said, "Thank you for your service, Captain."

  He only had time for a sharp intake of breath before Pim tackled him overboard. Both men splashed into the shallows. The captain's fingers clawed at the hull as the obeah man held his head beneath the lapping water.

  "Showtime," I said.

  Jaja nodded and raised his idol.

  The first approaching guard paused on the lawn. His attention suddenly diverted to his feet. To something on the ground. He flinched away.

  "What the--?"

  The spirits were in his mind. They would drive him crazy.

  The other guard was unaffected and stepped forward onto the dock. His eyes squinted against the spotlight.

  "They're all over the place!" yelled the first one, trampling the ground. The panicked man pointed his automatic weapon at his feet and fired. Lead thunked into dirt and stirred blades of grass into the air.

  The other guard swung around with his gun, ready for an ambush. All he saw was his partner emptying a magazine into the lawn.

  He stood on the dock, bewildered, until Pim launched out of the water below and grabbed his legs from behind, tugging hard. The gunman slipped on the dock and fell to his knees, a short burst of bullets releasing into the sky.

  I stretched my jaw in anticipation. Stealth was overrated. Now that the whole neighborhood had woken from the automatic reports, the only thing left to do was to finish this. I swung around the spotlight, stepped on the gunwale, and hopped to the dock. My metal boots landed heavy.

  Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

  I marched forward, eyes on the house. The faint light on the first floor went dark. A television, likely.

  Pim swung his machete. It glanced off the gun of the guard, who had resisted being dragged into the water. Now he was kicking the obeah man away to keep the blade from doing damage. At the same time, his gun hand struggled against Pim's grip, trying to shake loose so he could pump a few rounds into his attacker.

  The gun yanked up and away from Pim, who lacked leverage. The guard smiled as his arm was loosed, reaching for the sky.

  I slashed viciously as I passed, staying focused on the house. The man's forearm sliced clean off, gun and hand alike bouncing into the bay. His eyes widened as he took in his stump. He screamed loudly until a machete buried itself into his head like it was a coconut.

  Pim tugged his blade into the water and pulled the corpse down with it.

  Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

  My metal boots rang out on the dock. The back door of the house opened. A woman with short blond curls and purple eyeliner emerged onto the patio. She locked eyes with me.

  Stomp. Stomp. Swiff. Swiff.

  I didn't hurry my pace as I hit the grass. I didn't stutter. My steps evenly and consistently pressed ahead, savoring the challenge.

  "They're all over me!" yelled the remaining guard. He'd dropped his weapon and was clawing at his skin, his back to me as I passed. This time I used my left hand and swung the blade downward, rending his back open along the spine. All the while, I kept my eyes on the woman at the door.

  Swiff. Swiff. Swiff.

  Purple eyeliner tightened into shrewd slits. The woman barked orders inside. Two mercenaries rushed out to stand beside her, waiting for her command. When she called them idiots and pointed at me, a light-skinned man ran at me with his weapon up and fired.

  In a blur of motion, I dropped down on a knee spike and swung both blades ahead of me. The trail in their wake formed a protective shell. The bullets ricocheted against sharpened steel.

  The man was stuck for a moment with his jaw open. When he hurried to reload, a machete lobbed through the air plunged into his gut.

  Pim came up on my right to recover his weapon. Jaja was already advancing through the trees on my left.

  And me? I didn't run. I didn't hurry. I rose steadily to my feet and made a straight line for the blond woman and her second mercenary.

  Swiff. Swiff. Swiff.

  The pair traded a worried glance and retreated into the house. The dead bolt clicked loudly. I made my way across the yard and Jaja slipped around to the front. Behind me, Pim's machete chopped at bone.

  Two left, at least. South American ex-military and Florida trailer trash. Interesting that she was leading them. Hadn't even seen a gun. This led me to a single conclusion: she was an animist, like Marco.

  I marched onto the cement patio, past the hot tub and wicker furniture. The back door was made of heavy wood. A solid piece of carpentry.

  Stomp. Stomp. Thunk.

  My hooked blades bit deep into the old wood. With a grunt, I heaved the door off its hinges.

  The deafening blast surprised me. A solid blow punched me in the side of the gut, just beneath my breastplate. I didn't have time to inspect the damage because the South American was hiding in the laundry room, gun ready.

  As he pulled the trigger, I swung the door
in front of me, holding it like a shield. Bullets peppered the large surface but failed to penetrate. When the barrage ended, I held the blades tight and planted my boot in the center of the door, kicking it loose in the gunman's direction. He scrambled out of the way and came up for another volley.

  I hurled my blade into his chest.

  I paused a moment. Stumbled a step forward. Slipped and fell to a knee. My armor spike cracked the tile.

  Running my fingers along my side, I found the torn gouge of flesh. My hand came away with black blood.

  Which is when I noticed the spent double-barreled shotgun that had been rigged to the door. A primitive booby trap.

  "Trailer trash," I muttered.

  I ground my teeth in annoyance at the oversight. I winced and pushed to my feet. Placed my boot on the dead man's chest and yanked my blade free. I moved into the living room, favoring my side.

  Stomp-stomp. Stomp-stomp.

  "So, you're not bulletproof," drawled the blond woman.

  Waiting for me on the far side of the couch, she didn't look like much up close. A loose T-shirt. Cargo pants. But her pink skin was plump like a peach. A bonus for my trouble.

  "I'm disappointed," I said. "I was hoping you'd present a more original challenge."

  The woman didn't hold any spell tokens. She didn't wear an amulet or have magic spilling from her eyes. Instead, she held a single Beretta 9mm.

  Someone pounded on the front door. A voice inside yelled something in Spanish. So there was one more mercenary, at least. The woman and I returned our eyes to each other, content to let the others fight their own battle.

  I twirled the blade deftly in my fingers. "What are you going to do with that toy?"

  "You'd be surprised," she said defiantly.

  "I do hope so."

  I caught the blade by its grip and reared back to throw it. She fired the pistol as I knew she would. Not careful or precise. Not especially well aimed. The blade arced before me in a flash to batter away the spray.

  The spray never came.

  The rounds didn't hit me or the blade. They missed my breastplate and the floor and the walls behind me. My surprise went cold and calculating. I zeroed in on the slightest movement: fifteen rounds hovering unmolested in the air, all by themselves. A swarm of wasps positioning to strike.

  The animist smiled and tossed the spent Beretta to the floor. Her open hands engaged the Intrinsics now, the manifest energies that make up the world, the building blocks of magic. She focused and teased the bullets to her will. They spread around me in a cloud. Surrounded me from multiple angles.

  I stood tall and readied my weapons at each side. "You only get fifteen chances," I warned.

  She smirked. "I'm an all-or-nothing kinda gal."

  She clapped her hands together and the bullets all rocketed toward me at once. I spun with my blades, deflecting some and dodging others. I moved so fast I was a blur. Faster than a speeding bullet.

  But these weren't normal bullets. They weren't obeying the laws of physics. I deflected a few for good, but the remaining rounds pivoted and changed course. The hornet's nest was angry and the insects converged on me with unerring accuracy. I twisted out of their path and battered more away with superhuman speed.

  It wasn't enough. As I planted my foot for another spin, eight bullets punched into my back and side.

  I roared and buckled to all fours. One of my blades clanked to the tile. The pain was excruciating.

  Out of sight, another aftermath was playing out. The pounding on the door stopped. The South American screamed violently. The blond animist stepped aside to make sure her back wasn't exposed to whatever was coming from that end.

  That's when Pim struck from behind me. He charged in and raised his machete overhead.

  "Stop!" shouted the mage.

  Pim's weapon froze midair, as the bullets had. Stuck. He tugged at it, unwilling to give it up to the woman. It barely budged. He put his weight into it. She strained to hold him off.

  I laughed. A deep, throaty laugh. It resonated in my lungs. My shoulders heaved and the pain from the bullet wounds seared across my back. Then I laughed harder. A booming and boisterous thing that made more noise than the pain.

  I grabbed the dropped weapon and pulled it toward me slowly, blade scraping against tile.

  "Bulletproof or not," I grunted, "your weapons cannot kill me."

  I got my feet under me and stood. The woman's eyes quivered as she watched, locked in a mental struggle with Pim. Jaja rushed in from the front of the house. She spun as he tackled her. Pim broke free and charged her as well, raising his blade for a killing blow.

  "No!" I boomed.

  Everybody froze. Jaja on top of the whimpering animist. Pim towering over her mid-strike. In the background somewhere, a man quietly begged to die.

  Once again I didn't hurry. I studied the black blood on my hands. Wiped my blades clean on my pants. When I spoke, my voice was colored by annoyance.

  "All night I have promised my kills to others, or left them behind to be scavenged. But not with you." I strolled around the furniture and ran my eyes over the pathetic woman. "Now I finally get to feast. What a delight."

  I knelt over her, opened my jaw, and crunched down on the tendons in her neck. They ripped easily between my metal teeth. Human blood washed into my mouth, warm and full.

  The obeah men waited as I ate. It didn't take long. I wasn't a trickster spider who meticulously wrapped my victims in webbing. This was primal and naturalistic and raw. I drank the essence of the woman and chewed whatever flesh and bone got in the way. Then I rolled her lifeless body over and wiped my mouth.

  The house on Star Island was silent now. No heavy steps. No gunshots. No yelling or sirens. It was as if life had never existed here at all.

  We made our way through the house. The first floor was clear. The stairwell by the front door the last holdout. The final South American mercenary lay there, dead. He was propped up against the steps, knife still in one hand, a deep scoop of flesh and intestines tugged out with his other. Self-inflicted. Jaja had dreamed up a real nightmare for that one.

  I nodded to the obeah men and made my way up the stairs. They crept silently behind me and fanned out in the hallway. I nudged a door open with my weapon. An empty bedroom. Jaja and Pim cleared another and a bathroom. All our eyes fixed on the single door at the end of the hall, a sliver of bright light shining through underneath. The last place to hide.

  Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

  Pim was the closest. As he reached for the doorknob, a stream of light blazed right past him. The obeah man grunted and was knocked to the floor.

  Behind me, Jaja yelped. I spun around to see him being flung through the air. He bowled through a wide second-story window and careened to the ground below.

  I stepped forward and felt it coming. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight. Every open wound on my back tingled.

  I dove into a roll. The wall where I'd been smashed apart. I swung my blade backward in an expeditious arc. It whiffed and dug into the hardwood floor.

  The ghostly attack didn't let up. A punch to my shotgun wound. But I was fast as well. I dashed away and defended with a sweep of my metal boot. Again I hit nothing.

  Pim cursed in Igbo and swiped at something with his machete. The blade sunk into the wall and he stopped short with a gurgle. He looked at me, eyes wide, and then suddenly burst into flames. The obeah man screamed and kicked until he toppled over the banister and plummeted to the floor below, ashes in his wake.

  I scanned the hall, both weapons ready. The darkness was alleviated by the unnatural fire below.

  I could see I was alone.

  I breathed silently, patiently. Waited for another attack. It never came.

  I peeked downstairs. Pim was a charred crisp. The magic that had done him in was powerful. Efficient. I smelled something in it that I hadn't encountered in a long time. As the flames died to a smolder, the hall darkened. The bright sliver of light under the b
edroom door taunted me.

  I am here, it said. I am waiting.

  I snarled and barged inside.

  "In Nigeria, Ghana, and all along the Ivory Coast," came a disembodied voice, "they speak of a creature with hooked arms and legs. One impervious to weapons, who sinks sharp metal fangs into unwary wanderers. Those without homes or futures. The asanbosam, they call you."

  My boots stomped heavily on the floor. I studied the bedroom. Large by most standards. A king-sized platform bed opposite a fireplace. Desk and writing chair in the corner. Long balcony with a view of sparkling Biscayne Bay, the lawn, and the dock.

  But no man.

  "If this display is meant to cow me," I announced, "it is inadequate." I lowered my blades and waited.

  "An asanbosam," repeated the voice. "That means you're not actually African at all. Not really. You're from the Nether. You scurry out from the holes between worlds to feed on humans foolish enough to tempt the dark."

  Hands clapped together behind me. I whirled around to see a man studying me. Bright-orange hair. Sharp cheeks and a pointed nose resting above a thick beard.

  The grip on my weapons tightened, but the figure barely registered them. He was too busy taking stock of me.

  "My, but you are fearless," he observed. "Aren't you?"

  I waited, amused by his smugness but concerned with his smell.

  He looked normal enough. Unimpressive, really. The loose sports coat over the wrinkled polo did a poor job hiding his belly. He was hardly daunting by conventional means.

  "You aren't human, either," I returned.

  "All the more reason for us to deal in a civilized manner."

  My face darkened. "You killed my obeah men."

  "The one outside will live. The other one, I'm sorry to say, forced my hand. But then you've killed many more of mine. I won't hold that against you during our negotiations."

  I sidestepped to the balcony window. Jaja lay in the grass, unconscious but breathing.

  "You're a jinn," I spat. "A primal being. There are legends about your kind as well." I stared him in the eye. "Deals with jinns are foolish business."

  He widened his eyes almost imperceptibly. "Smart. Doubly fearless, too, given that knowledge. Tell me, aren't you scared of me even a little?"