Black Magic Outlaw: Books 1 - 3

by Domino Finn

  "The one you killed Martine for?" I spat. "I don't have it. I've never had it."

  The large man nodded. "Considering your position, I'm inclined to believe you're being truthful. But consider mine: You don't remember anything from the last decade. Your word is useless."

  Who knew the West African vampire could present such a succinct argument? I pressed my teeth together and snarled. He spoke of my death as a minor inconvenience.

  Tunji Malu took a step closer to me. "The Horn is linked to you, Francisco. It calls for you. You found it once. You can find it again. If you bring it to me, I'll spare your life."

  And that confirmed what I already knew. He didn't have it. He didn't know where it was. After ten years of looking, working with Martine and the Bone Saints and likely every other death animist he could, even after forcing me into undead service, the asan had still come up empty.

  Which presented quite the little mystery to me. Granted, at the moment the concern was purely academic. Tunji's curvy knives were half as interesting but exponentially more urgent. I think that's a saying somewhere: don't bring an inscrutable problem to a knife fight.

  I knew the vampire could move fast—I'd watched it kill three people—but I had more defensive magic than Martine and (hopefully) the others. I could cast plenty on the fly. I just wasn't sure it would be enough.

  "I wouldn't even know where to start looking," I told him.

  He nodded. "I thought you'd say that."

  I recalled Martine's initial attack. Her undead had tried to hold him to the ground. Smart move considering his abilities. Tunji was too quick to be let loose. But the asan had been too much for the dumb strength of the undead. He'd ripped her servants from the ground and rent them apart.

  I'd like to see him try that with a shadow.

  Tunji lunged at me, but before he could get going, a shadow tendril from underneath the table locked around his foot. He stretched for me like a bungee jumper and the hook whizzed dangerously close.

  I hopped back and flicked off the light switch. The results were unimpressive. It was dingy in here at best—not dark enough to blind anyone—but at least I had some pockets of darkness to work in.

  Tunji ceased struggling with his binding and turned to me. I phased into the floor and launched toward him. Familiar with my powers, he guessed I would slip past him and attack from behind. Hey, it's my move. He spun around to face behind him. But he was too fast for his own good.

  I skipped out of the shadow early, attacking him head on. Except Tunji's defensive maneuver had now exposed his back to me.

  The tendril around his leg vanished as I summoned the force into both hands and rammed into the acid burns on his back.

  The vampire rocketed into the far wall and roared. A hand of darkness emerged from the wall and latched onto his shoulder. I mustered as much force as I could but still failed to force Tunji to his knees. Immobilizing him would have to be enough.

  Tunji swiped his hooks in wide arcs to keep me at bay, but I wasn't going for him. I grabbed the base of the drawn mini-blind from the window beside him and ripped it from the wall. Sunlight flooded over the corner of the room and bathed the vampire in warm light.

  I didn't know what I expected. Besides weakening the shadow hand that held him, he kicked me in the gut for my trouble.

  I crumpled to my knees and instinctively threw my arm over my head. His blade clanged against my newly fortified tattoo. Blue light blinded him and he hissed, but he spun his circle blade as he pulled away, slashing the inner, unprotected part of my forearm.

  I recoiled and he broke free from the shadow magic. I rolled away, trying to get back to the shadow. Back to safety.

  He was fast. I ducked under the table as his heavy blade punctured it. He swiped again but I kicked a chair into him. I scooted back on my ass, still in sunlight.

  Before his next attack came, I scooped Baptiste's white powder from the floor and blew it in his face. It was a lucky shot and wholly unexpected—the vampire even breathed some of the deadly powder in through his mouth.

  Tunji howled and spun away, slicing a piece of the table off. I made it out of the sun and slipped backward, resting against the far wall. No more windows.

  The former bodyguard spit out bile and blood, but he came at me again. The type of guy who doesn't take no for an answer.

  "What did you think?" I challenged. "You'd kill us all and walk away?"

  He closed in and I saw one of his eyes had fused shut.

  "I didn't kill them," he said, coughing, but calmly. "You did."

  He brought both hooks above his head and forced them down. I easily sidestepped the attack, but it wasn't meant for me. He pulled his swing away and struck the warded door.

  Both hooks buried into the cheap wood, one of them slicing through a metal bar of the security door. A blinding flash of red exploded into the asan, but he withstood the magic and heaved both doors off their hinges at the same time. The metal gate fell away, molten and bent from the destructive blast. The warded door remained undamaged from the directional magic, but Tunji's two blades were planted in it. He sliced and diced with his knives, splintering the wood to pieces and freeing his weapons, still glowing orange from the residual heat.

  Neat trick.

  But it had cost the vampire. He didn't look so hot anymore. His dark skin was coated with whitened ash. He breathed heavily. But I suddenly realized it wasn't him I needed to worry about anymore.

  Jean-Louis Chevalier burst into the room with two zombies and a gunman.

  "Assassin!" yelled Tunji, sinking to his knees and pointing a finger squarely at me. "He killed them all!"

  Something told me the screaming mob crying for my head wouldn't listen to reason.

  A shadow limb swiped at the gunman's hand. My magic doesn't have the manual dexterity to manipulate a weapon like that. I settled for knocking it to the floor. At the same time, the bokor spit green liquid from his mouth, a deluge of projectile vomit aimed right at me. I phased through it, but only a few feet till I hit sunlight. There, I made a break for the window. One of the zombies grabbed my ankle and tripped me.

  The thrall held me down in sunlight. I reached for my whistle, but Jean-Louis Chevalier was wearing his silver gauntlets. Right here, in his proximity, I was unlikely to hijack his servants. The bokor smiled and took a swig from a glass vial, ready to regurgitate again.

  That's when I noticed the zombie holding me down sported cheap sunglasses.

  Breaking Chevalier's connection with his pet wasn't happening. But tricking the undead lizard brain was an easy bet. The shadow flashed, and the zombie saw things in a new light. I was his bokor, on the ground, and Cisco was standing over me. The zombie released me and growled, then tackled the new Cisco Suarez.

  Freed, I sprang to my feet. Over my shoulders I caught the hilarious image of Chevalier struggling against his own servant, a baffled expression on his face.

  Before I went through the window, I locked eyes with Tunji Malu. I think he was impressed.

  There's something about a twenty-foot drop that's educational. Namely, it displays how frail the human body is. I shook the haze away and rolled in the grass, bullets thudding next to me.

  I fired up my shield and retreated, searching for the threat. My black cat peeked out of the open, back-door window of the white Hummer limo. Either he was trying to guide me or he was moving up in the world.

  I made a break for the pretentious vehicle, skirting the building to keep it between me and the gunfire. Since my pursuers had to run through the structure's shadow, I waved a hand and the ground tugged at them, gumming up their movements. For a perfect moment, I became an Olympic high diver, careening through that open window in rare form.

  I didn't stick the landing. Despite hitting a soft seat, I managed to flip around and kick bottles and glasses off a shelf. I came to rest upside down with my hand in a plate of oysters. The high life, all right.

  I righted myself. No one else was back here, not even the
cat anymore. Strange since I'd just seen it. I started to get the feeling it wasn't a normal zombie cat.

  Bullets peppered the limo and I kissed the floor again. What sounded like hail hammered on the windows, but nothing got through. The freaking Hummer was bulletproof. I rose, raised the open window and checked the locks, and allowed a half smile.

  Then the entire back windshield exploded.

  Gunfire ripped through the cabin. Enchanted rounds again. Had to be. Or maybe your garden-variety, armor-piercing rounds. I didn't want to test them against my shield to find out.

  I threw myself to the floor again. The oysters had the right idea. As I crawled toward the front cab, I noticed movement. There was a driver. "Get out of here!" I yelled.

  Bullets swept over my head. Windows spiderwebbed. Expensive decanters of single-malt whiskey shattered. The interior of the limo became the Normandy invasion, but the freaking Hummer still didn't move.

  "Namadi's dead!" I screamed. "Get us the hell out of here or we will be too!"

  When the car didn't shift into gear, I shimmied to the front like I was navigating a trench. Between bursts of gunfire, I checked the driver.

  The dude was wearing comically large headphones and jamming to music. I swear, ten years ago, cell phones were smaller, limos were smaller, headphones were smaller. So much for a future of miniaturization.

  I ripped the bright red monstrosities from his ears and repeated myself. I don't think the startled driver understood a single word I said. The next argument he heard was more convincing: automatic fire ripping apart the newly-waxed chassis. He threw the Hummer into drive and floored it.

  The driver weaved over the driveway to avoid the guards. I squeezed through the little window to the front with only one uncomfortable bump in the groin to show for it. It was better than a bullet, anyway.

  The guards at the gate raised their weapons. I grabbed the wheel and forced a hard right onto the grass. The tires peeled through the lawn and sped across the property toward Second Avenue. The driver understood the plan and picked up speed before crunching the Hummer right into the green metal fence.

  I tell you, the perimeter fence was firmly rooted to the ground. Impenetrable. But Hummer limos at speed don't mess around. The irresistible force met the immovable object. We won.

  As we sped away from Little Haiti, both our heads ducked safely below the windshield, we traded glances.

  "Not bad driving," I commended. "How do you feel about whiskey and oysters?"

  Chapter 33

  What did I think was gonna happen? It wasn't just a single person I'd gone after, it was an entire gang. No shame in retreat under those circumstances. Hell, it was outright cocky to think I could've handled everybody at once. I guess old habits die hard.

  If I kept it up, I'd die hard too. Again.

  My breach of the Bone Saints compound (besides the undignified end) actually accomplished a lot (besides pissing off a collective Little Haiti). I now knew who my real enemy was. Not the Saints. Not Baptiste or Max or Namadi. It was all Tunji Malu. Everything had been Tunji Malu. The asanbosam. The West African vampire. He was the one who had cursed me. Knowing that was some mark of progress.

  The smug look on his face as he accused me of assassinating the gang leaders drove me to anger. I demanded the limo driver turn around and take me back. He refused and reminded me that I was the one who had convinced him to run in the first place. I knew he was right but I was too amped up to like it. I hated turning my tail between my legs once again.

  We drove south and the shock wore off. I realized I was sitting on a gold mine. Here's a life pro tip: if you want to get at affluence's dirty laundry, ask the hired help. The limo driver was quite enlightening.

  For one, he was totally creeped out by Tunji. The driver didn't know anything about magic, but he was superstitious enough to be scared. He didn't hesitate to believe my account of what had transpired in the meeting. Not only that, he was smart. He recognized that he was a liability now. The poor guy decided to head straight for the Port of Miami and flee the country.

  On the way, he answered anything I asked. Namadi had arrived from West Africa, with Tunji Malu in tow, twelve years prior. It was a rags-to-riches story, but I only got the broad strokes because the driver had only been employed for a few years.

  That had been plenty of time to confirm my suspicions.

  Apparently, while Namadi had been "the boss," his bodyguard had free reign to make power plays throughout the city. Namadi hadn't been a voodoo priest. As for Tunji, his full skill set remained to be seen.

  My West African mythology is rusty, but creatures like Tunji Malu come in several categories. He could be one of the cursed, once human but no longer. They're sometimes called subhumans (but as a general rule never to their faces). Zombies are an undead example.

  Conversely, asanbosam might be fae, any of a number of underling races from the Nether. I'm not too keen on the Nether. It's a wild place of twisted life and blackened blood. Anansi trickster spiders fall into that category. With everything I'd seen, I bet Tunji did too. Except he was humanoid. More intelligent. I was guessing he was a silvan or a fiend of some sort.

  It didn't really matter whether the vampire knew magic or was magic. One thing was certain: he was otherworldly. He didn't fit in the natural world. Several times the driver referred to Tunji as invincible, his words a reverent whisper, as if speaking of a legend. I've learned that legends are overrated but often have truth to them.

  On the more practical side of things, I got the address of Namadi's mansion in Coconut Grove.

  The driver offered me the Hummer. He didn't need it anymore, but I didn't want any part of it. A respected community leader was now sans a head. The police wouldn't look kindly on whoever possessed his stolen vehicle. I settled for a ride instead and offered the limo driver a word of luck when we parted.

  It wasn't until he dropped me off that I thought of the cat again. I checked the back cabin but he wasn't in sight. I couldn't feel his connection either. My best guess was that he'd taken a bullet. The disappearance was a bit unsettling, but I had larger issues to worry about.

  I knew better than to stay on the streets. Of all the places to lie low, I ended up at a strip club drinking a twelve-dollar beer, staring at my phone instead of the girls. (Okay, I peeked from time to time). These joints weren't known for their sincerity. Ironically, it might've been the only place in the city I still had a friend.

  For about an hour, I tucked myself in the back corner with a shadow over my face. That was usually enough to be left alone, but here a new girl offered me a lap dance every five minutes.

  It was dumb in hindsight but, in my early twenties, I used to have fun in strip clubs. I knew the silicone and smiles were illusions, but it was a game I enjoyed. The flirting, the invented stories, the arms around your shoulder. Now I looked around and all I saw was desperation and sweat.

  Wow, listen to me. Most people live a lifetime before they start sounding like their parents. Me? A decade flashed by in the blink of an eye and I'd just quoted my father.

  It's always hardest to hear when you need to listen most.

  I accepted another beer and drank, thinking about friends and enemies. Neither were turning out quite how I'd imagined.

  "Care for a dance?" asked a voluptuous bombshell wearing a bikini top three sizes too small.

  I leaned forward and let the shadow fall from my face. "Howdy, Milena."

  She started. Her reaction was to cover up, which I thought was strange considering the venue. She went from modest to indignant real quick.

  "Cisco, you asshole!"

  "What'd I do now?"

  She smacked my arm. "I don't like my friends coming here."

  I threw up my hands in surrender. "I'm not here to start trouble. Honest."

  A meathead who put those old posters of Arnold to shame suddenly appeared. "Is there a problem here?"

  Before I could renege on my previous promise, Milena jumped in. "Sorr
y, Mike. We're good. I was just convincing my lovely customer here to buy me a Sex on the Beach."

  He nodded and waved the cocktail waitress over.

  "You know that'll cost me fifteen bucks, right?"

  "Twenty," she said, taking a seat. "And it's watered down to hell. But you gotta pay for my time when I'm working."

  "As long as I'm paying—" I started.

  Milena cut into me with her finger. "Don't you even make jokes about that."

  I shrugged. It was a sensitive issue with her. I could respect that. The waitress returned with what amounted to a juice shot in a martini glass. I gave it a puzzled stare, trying to figure out why someone would drink something like that.

  "What's up?" asked Milena. "I can give you five minutes. Then you're outta here."

  I sucked my teeth, both impressed and disturbed at the same time. This wasn't the same Milena Fuentes I had known. It wasn't just the meaty hips and generous bust, either. She'd come a long way. Milena was a survivor. Turned a bad deal on its head and made it something—not good, maybe, but better.

  "Hey," she commanded, snapping her fingers. "Eyes up."

  I nodded. "I need to borrow your car."

  She shrugged. "That it? You had me worried."

  "That's not it, Milena. I need your help. I know it's a lot to ask, but you're the only one I can trust."

  She sipped her "drink" and leaned back. "Now you're just being melodramatic. You have lots of friends, Cisco."

  "You'd be surprised. What I did today..." I stared at the beer in my hand. Anything to avoid looking her in the eyes. "It may have hurt Evan. His career. His family. His nice little life."

  "What'd you do?"

  "Just put the truth out there. It's the fallout that might hurt."

  Milena put her hand on mine, drawing my gaze. "Cisco. No one will blame you for wanting answers. Especially not Evan."

  "He wanted me to stay away and I didn't."

  "He'll forgive you."

  "I'm not too sure about that," I said. "He wanted me to get out of town."