by Domino Finn
I was one to talk. Maybe I should wait until I got out of this mess before passing judgment.
My boot scraped over orange powder and sent a few sparks in the air. I remembered the stuff from Martine's final moments. She'd been prepping a new batch when Asan interrupted her. Maybe I could use it.
I withdrew the ceremonial knife and turned to the mutilated bodies against the walls. They wouldn't do. They'd been dead much too long.
Good thing I had a fresh corpse to work with.
"Sorry, girl," I said, turning to Martine. "Looks like I need your blood one last time."
The blade sliced her stomach open cleanly. I salvaged the spilled orange powder from the floor and scooped it into her open belly. Then I swiped some fish hooks from the wall and used them as crude staples to close her wound.
Many necromantic spells require ritual. Raising Martine as an automaton would've taken much too long—time that I didn't have—but that wasn't my goal here. Whatever brute strength a zombie could muster, my shadow magic should match. No, I needed something stronger than a punch.
I dragged Martine's body to the barn door. In minutes, the blood and powder mixture would ignite my friend like a bomb and blow everything to kingdom come.
Me too, if I stuck around for it.
I moved to the far wall, shifted into the shadow, and planned my next moves. I was safe here. Although magically activated, this would be a physical blast that couldn't touch me. Within seconds I'd be free. But someone had lit the shed on fire. Someone would doubtless be watching from the outside to make sure I succumbed to their trap.
And I wasn't gonna let that fucker get away.
I waited patiently. This kind of bomb didn't have a digital timer or a countdown. It could blow in a second or a minute, and when it did, I'd be ready. I allowed the darkness to slip from my eyes and blinked away the tears. I'd be bathed in sunlight when the shed blew. No sense being blinded afterward.
Before the blast, a piece of ceiling tore away and collapsed on the floor.
The room flooded with light, both from the fire and the sun. It ripped me back into the physical world against my will. No more shadow, no more sanctuary. Sparks rained from above. The rafter on the ground burned brightly.
I considered my options. It wasn't as simple as ducking under a table. With the sun above and the flames at ground level, any useful darkness in the shed flickered away.
I ran to the broken floorboards and reached for the exposed dirt underneath, shoveling handfuls into the fire. It sputtered and the corners of the room darkened. I kept shoveling, knowing I had only seconds to live.
Another rafter fell and fire erupted beside me. This plan was screwed. I couldn't put it out in time. With only a moment to spare, I stared into the hole as I dug. The hole the zombie had sprung from. Martine's petite. There was enough space underground for me. I lowered myself in, barely squeezing past walls of soil.
I heard ripping flesh and smelled searing meat. The room shook. My palm faced the top of the hole, blue energy sealing me in. Blinding light engulfed me and everything went silent, like someone pressed the mute button. The shield protected me from the blast and the fire, but it couldn't handle anything heavy. If a rafter landed on me, I was done for.
The rafters landed everywhere in the backyard except inside the cookhouse.
Large pieces of wood crashed into the bushes and trees and grass around me. My hearing came back, but it was just ringing. I dragged myself from the hole and checked the damage. The only piece of the shed that still stood was the warded door in its frame. Lines of bright red stretched across it, flickering like old neon tubes. It was a web that held the door shut—once invisible, now straining and weak from the force of the explosion.
That was some strong magic.
The ringing in my ears lessened and I shook off the daze. Licking flames snapped and hissed in the wind. A huddled mass floundered beside the house. Whatever it was, the blast had blown it against the wall. The torso struggled to get up, but it wasn't a human torso.
It was the same tarantula that had been hiding behind the garbage cans. Only now it was two feet tall.
"Fucking spiders," I muttered.
Chapter 14
It all made sense now. Asan had a companion. Martine had called it anansi. Only that wasn't a name, it was a type of being from the Nether.
The Nether is under us. Everywhere. Just a secret doorway away, it's a world of twisted, grotesque creatures. Anansi are trickster spiders from Africa, or at least the part of the Nether that maps to Africa. They're cunning foes that can shift in size and shape. No doubt the baboon spider had set the trap to kill me, watching in anticipation as I almost burned to death.
It had just found out I wasn't easy prey.
It skittered away to the side of the house, running for the front. The walkway was still well-shadowed beneath trees. I gummed up the ground. The giant spider's eight legs had trouble pushing through.
I checked the yard for other surprises. The anansi was just a pet. Where was the master?
The combination of explosion, fire, and smoke had cleared out the yard. The birds were gone, as well as the squirrels and insects. No sign of Asan. It was just me and the anansi. After the type of day I'd had, that suited me just fine.
The giant tarantula was almost clear of the shadow. I chased it down the side path. In defense, it brushed its furry back legs at me. Hair filled the air like a cloud of spores, flying toward me. I threw up my shield and hunched behind it, avoiding the brunt of the attack. The floating hairs weaved through the air in odd patterns, going around the blue energy protecting me and backtracking after they passed. Scores of tiny barbs cut into my skin. I shut my eyes, thankful that I still wore the voodoo toxin mask so I wouldn't breathe in the needles.
I set my jaw and attempted to inch forward, but it was too much. The spider hair slashed at my arms and face. I backed into the yard and ducked around the corner, away from the deadly cloud. The damn thing was covering its escape.
I ran into the open back door of the house. The kitchen was filled with black smoke, and not from the shed fire. The peppers and onions were burning. I rushed through the house and out the front door, beating the slowed spider to the driveway. I jumped in its path just as it found daylight. The anansi screeched and sprayed me with saliva.
Great. The spider could make noise too. All that was left to realize my deepest fears was for it to crawl into my ear and lay eggs.
It reared up like a horse and doubled in size in the process. The anansi slammed its two front legs down hard. The ground shook as I sidestepped the blows. The spider swiped articulated legs at me. Several cat-like claws slashed uncomfortably close to my face.
This thing was big and strong now. Absent a giant can of bug spray, I wasn't sure how to kill it.
I channeled the dog collar. Opiyel. It took extra effort in the sunlight, but a tentacle of shadow lashed out from the side path and curled around the spider's back leg. The darkness tugged the anansi back into the shade, where I was stronger.
I charged. Large fangs extended like switchblades from its mouth, revealing dripping digestive juices. I lunged forward into the shadow and brought it around my fist, then connected a haymaker with whatever was the equivalent of a spider jaw.
The anansi literally flipped, pulling a full rotation in the air before latching sideways onto the house. Eight sets of claws raked lines over the concrete and ripped into the side door beside the garbage cans.
The effort of the punch had required dissolving the shadow tentacle. Shadow charming is intricate and requires concentration. Manifestations are pretty much a one-at-a-time operation. Now that I was done boxing, the tentacle returned.
This time, the feeler wrapped around the metal garbage can. I lifted it and slammed it down on the tarantula, my version of a rock and a hard place. The metal crumpled like a soda can and fell away. The anansi barely hissed.
It looked like the squishing tactic wasn't gonna work. Maybe t
here was a giant magnifying glass around.
Again I raised the garbage can. The shadow tentacle crushed it further, compressing it into a solid wrecking ball. Before it came down, the spider smashed open the window on the top half of the side door, shrank down a couple sizes, and crawled inside.
I growled and let the cannonball drop. My tentacle lashed out, just barely hitching onto a spider leg before it disappeared inside. I tugged hard, fighting the beast's strength, but it wasn't caught off guard this time and held its ground. I grunted and moved closer, straining against it. Suddenly, the tentacle ripped backward with the leg, except it wasn't attached to the spider anymore.
Eew. I released it and the appendage twitched by itself on the floor. Gross.
On the door, thin strands covering the window caught the light, then faded out to nothing. More invisible webbing, holding the door closed and blocking the broken window. But that couldn't slow me here.
I slipped into the shadow and phased forward, past the magical barrier and into the house. It was smokier now. I repositioned the burlap mask, still hanging around my neck, over my nose again. That didn't do anything for my eyes, though. It was tough to see. I did notice the smoke detector on the ceiling, its battery wire hanging, disconnected. I let out a wry chuckle. Classic animist precaution.
The anansi scrambled to the kitchen, going for the back door. Hot on its many heels, I shot around the corner, giving little consideration to how the trickster had earned its name.
In the heat of pursuit, I ran straight for the door, not noticing the anansi waiting in the corner. My legs seized up mid-run, constricting and causing me to fall forward. I caught myself on the counter beside the stove and spun around, aware of my mistake.
The baboon spider was tiny again. Almost unnoticeable. I could have run right by it. But the anansi didn't want me to get away either.
Around my knees were several loops of shining white line, disappearing from sight but still every bit as solid. Elbows resting on the counter, I struggled to free my legs.
The anansi had other plans. It grew. Two feet. Three feet. The spider expanded in size until its presence in the kitchen was almost comical. The giant creature took cautious steps toward me on eight furry legs. (Well, seven now.) Its fangs were appendages as well, and two little feelers jutted out behind them. Imagining its intentions sickened me. If the anansi had its way, and enough time, it would suck me dry, not eating me but drinking me, crushing my flesh and bone into dust like I was a big ol' smoothie.
I wasn't gonna go like that.
The enormous spider unfolded two huge fangs and lunged at me.
My shield was worthless here. I threw up my forearm. One of the crushing mandibles caught it and a fang whizzed by my ear and tore my mask away. Damn those things were long. The anansi scratched at me but I warded it off with my arm. It might not be able to devour me through the tattoo, but I only had so much strength to keep it at bay. I was in a bit of a bind and needed a new trick.
Shadow magic is limited in sunlight, but sometimes the absence of shadow is even worse. Outside, the tentacle had reached into the sun and dragged the anansi to darkness, but that construct had to originate somewhere. A strong, solid shadow is necessary to source my magic. It's where Opiyel thrives.
Well-lit, modern interiors, like kitchens? I'm kinda boned. Which meant I needed to get creative, if less subtle.
The anansi released my arm and reared for another bite. I grabbed the frying pan off the burner and swung. Hot oil seared into spider skin. A sickening smell of burnt Cuban food and sizzling hairs joined the black smoke.
I coughed and the spider shrieked, coming for me again.
The cast-iron pan knocked a fang away, but the damage was minimal. The spider jutted a front leg at me next. I ducked below the attack and my face stopped short of the flames on the gas burner.
Fire. Fire kills spiders, right?
The pan had spilled its contents but was still lined with enough oil to ignite. I swept it over the burner—
The anansi knocked the pan from my hands with a well-timed swing. The cast iron clattered to the tiles behind the spider. And my legs were still tied.
The creature almost laughed, if that was possible, and spread its two front legs over me. Mandibles wiggled with minds of their own. Digestive juices pooled at their razor points. A set of spider eyes blinked, save the two that were injured by oil.
The anansi struck like a cobra, and from my repertoire of clever maneuvers, I went for duck-into-a-ball-and-scream. Hey, getting the job done is more important than looking cool. The mandibles slammed into the stove top above me, brushing the open fire. The tarantula's entire face, already soaked in cooking oil, burst into flames.
The anansi's screeches, horrible before, were now death-curdling. My stomach shriveled into a knot. I rolled across the floor as the giant spider thrashed in the relatively small space, knocking plants and spices from the walls and banging into cabinets. But the death throes didn't last long. If there's one sure way to kill a spider, to almost make them explode, it's with fire. Ten seconds, twenty tops, and I was covered in anansi guts.
Some sofrito, huh?
Still on the floor, I tried the ceremonial knife on the invisible bindings. Surprisingly, it cut through with ease. Coughing from the smoke, I crawled out the back door and watched my friend's house burn. The explosion of the shed had been loud and sudden but, from the street, contained and invisible. It was possible the authorities would overlook it. Now, with an entire house in flames, they'd come rushing.
I wasn't sure what people would find. Corpses. Martine. Giant spider bits. Hopefully it would all burn away. But there was one thing I could prevent them from finding for sure: me.
I went down the path with the garbage cans and grimaced at the severed spider leg. At least it wasn't moving anymore. Using a plastic bag from the scattered trash pile, I hefted the leg and shoved it through the window. Somehow I managed that with my eyes closed.
Fire spilled into the hallway and began erasing evidence that I was ever there. The flames seemed to steal my happy memories of the place, not to mention anything that might've been useful. My boot kicked the over-sized jar of dirt as I stepped away. I sighed, picked it up, and moved on. There was nothing else for me here.
Chapter 15
Of all the people I knew, Martine was the one that could've helped me. Watching her last moments of life only confirmed that. I bet she'd known exactly how I died, why I died, and what happened to my family. Assuming cooperation, a few minutes with her would've filled in all my blanks.
I hadn't come away completely empty-handed though, and I'm not just talking about the jar of dirt I stashed on a side street and the enchanted cloth around my neck. I had information now. A nether creature named Asan was hunting me. An artifact called the Horn of Subjugation was involved. Naturally, the former would kill for the latter.
At the same time, the death sight had introduced doubts. Asan was capable of murdering me and my family, but I'd figured those for Haitian jobs. I also doubted Martine's loyalty, once a solid partner, now a possible (and dead) traitor. Were the Bone Saints mixed up in their plot? I wondered if Asan was a Bone Saint himself, but Haiti was the New World. The pet anansi suggested Old World roots.
Sure, my understanding of the situation wasn't a field of rolling flowers, but I wasn't lost in the woods anymore either. My info wasn't great but it was a starting point. And hey, I'd almost been dissolved and devoured over the course of several hours. Just being alive was cause for optimism.
Still, I was left with few people to turn to. I couldn't trust anyone hooked into the magic scene, not anymore. And I couldn't risk the lives of my friends by being seen with them. But my absence hadn't prevented Martine's death. The mere threat of my turning up was enough to have her killed. What if my other friends were in a similar position? As long as I didn't carelessly lead anyone to their doorsteps, didn't I have an obligation to check on them?
One name kept tumbli
ng around my head, prompted by Milena's glittery ink: Evan Cross.
Normally, I'd leave my best friend out of this. Spellcraft was not his cup of joe. But his position as a police officer could come in handy. If not for clutch assists, what were best friends for?
I've known Evan Cross since elementary school. Back when I was normal, he likes to joke. There's truth to the humor. Back then, we were just kids. We played with action figures and went on bike rides. Kid stuff. Then Evan and I grew apart. He played sports. I played RPGs. He exercised, and I exercised my imagination. By the time high school rolled around, Evan was the quarterback of the football team and I was a full-blown animist. Go figure.
It's amazing we remained friends through it all. True, he dislikes my craft, but he has a good heart. He ignores what he disagrees with and sees me as the same eight-year-old he used to BMX race with.
After he returned to Miami with his criminology degree, Evan breezed through the police academy and aced his field training. I knew him as a rookie, but he was too smart for patrol. News of his promotion was no surprise. Head of a special task force? Well, maybe just a little bit.
When the bus dropped me off in Downtown Miami, I checked my six. I couldn't shake the eerie feeling that I was followed. Hey, it's not paranoid if it's true. Not only were the Bone Saints after me, but Asan as well. And the last thing I wanted to do was endanger my friend.
I found Evan's field office without incident. It was an unassuming building without signs or markings announcing the police affiliation. Evan was more legit than I thought.