by Domino Finn
Chevalier sent a minion at the two Serbians. Petrovic swung a giant wooden club and took the thing's head off. Contagion spurted out in what Crayola would've named puke-green. I'd been waiting for this trick, but I supposed Chevalier hadn't been able to poison them all.
The two Vucari were caught in the sandstorm of pestilence. They roared and shook and stomped around like angry bulls. The explosion of movement shocked the bokors. Petrovic had taken the brunt of the spellcraft in the face. He should've been hurling his guts on the floor. Instead he was more infuriated than ever. I'd never seen anyone shrug off that attack before. From the looks on Chevalier's face, he hadn't either.
First time for everything.
From what I pieced together, the Vucari fought with a sort of berserker style. It was both their asset and their vice. Hallucinogens, poisons—they only seemed to inflame them. But they weren't completely useless gestures. The key was to use the Vucari's power against them.
Given the right tools and preparation, rabid dogs aren't hard to put down. And at my count they were still outnumbered. The three remaining zombies lumbered toward their prey with emotionless faces.
Then a lance of flame pierced through a zombie from behind, arcing up and cutting it in half like a stick of butter. Connor joined his hands and outstretched fingers, sending another spear at the next thrall. It did its best I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Butter impression.
The final zombie charged the ifrit, but he only made it halfway before disintegrating in a burst of flames. The ashes washed over Connor as he clapped his hands clean, smiling at his brutal handiwork.
I cracked my shotgun in half and slid another fire round into the barrel. "Too bad you can't touch us," I taunted. But my hand was shaking. I hadn't witnessed lethal efficiency like that in a while. I was afraid to imagine what a fair fight between us would look like.
"Don't be so sure," he said, then clapped his hands together.
A burst of fire roared my way, eating up the shadows at my feet. I recoiled as the searing flames enveloped me. I was unhurt. The fire was a magic show, a special effect. It wasn't even hot.
So we were still immune to the jinn. Why would he waste the effort?
"Watch your back, Suarez!" called out the bokor.
The fire. It was a distraction.
I spun and drew up the sawed off. I couldn't see through the dying flames encircling me, but I aimed at the Vucari's previous position. Vukasin Petrovic crashed into me. The gun barked wide, sending flames of my own dancing in the air. I was hefted from my feet and slung over his shoulder in an instant. Petrovic leaned low and charged forward.
I took a harried breath, coughing when the contagion plastering his face got too close to me. My mind reeled. I turned away. We were going fifty miles per hour right into a red shipping container.
Right before we hit, I fell into the shadow. I couldn't slip Petrovic—his grip was too tight—so we plunged into the darkness together. Thing is, we still had a metric shitload of inertia, and there wasn't enough clearance to slide under the container.
I angled us up instead, along the wall. Ignoring gravity, the mass of darkness crawled upward in an instant. At the top of the third container, where there was a surface to stand on, I hopped from the shadow and pulled down. Petrovic still held me but was no longer in control. The sudden and inextricable movement was jarring. He was quick, but he was used to obeying the laws of physics. Now thrust into a different position, he was disoriented. I slammed an elbow into the back of his head, wiggled free, and dropped under him, planting my boot in his chest and tugging on his arm as I rolled on my back.
The Vucari sailed into the air and was greeted with a crack on the cement a few stories below.
I turned to my allies. They were playing Keep Away with the last Serbian. He was covered in cuts from Chevalier's silver claws while the kids distracted him with bone dust.
Connor stood between the containers, his arms crossed as he pondered his losing proposition. My eyes met his.
"Cut out this proxy war," I yelled.
"Proxy wars are how I fight."
The bloody Vucari retreated from Chevalier. They let him go. He disappeared toward the highway, leaving his friends behind.
"This isn't a fight," I countered.
Connor blinked. One moment he was standing on the dock, the next he was beside me on the shipping container. "Don't think I couldn't wipe the floor with you, Cisco," he said calmly. "It's just that doing so is a bigger risk than necessary. It's easy for a man like you—in your prime, one foot in the grave—to act rashly. Your life is short. It's all downhill from here. But the jinn live interminably long. We value patience over immediate satisfaction."
My face was covered in sweat and blood. "Then watch patiently as I spend the rest of my short life destroying everything you've built."
His cheek twitched, but he didn't want to show me his anger. He was determined to prove himself superior to man. "You punch above your weight class, Cisco. I'll give you that. And holding onto the Horn is impressive. Tell me. Where was it hidden all these years?"
I showed the jinn my teeth. "In cosmic irony, it was safe in a hiding place of your own creation. My grave."
Connor's eyes twitched now. "That bitch Martine..."
"I told you," barked Petrovic from below. The lunatic was on his feet again. He had a thick accent and used just enough words to get his point across. "Roughing up the old man not enough."
I worked my jaw. He was talking about Hernan.
Connor rolled his eyes at the insolence. On one hand, maybe the Vucari were useful to him. On the other, it would be fun to vaporize them. But he sighed and nodded. "You're right, of course." He turned to me. "I was going easy on you before, Cisco. Professional courtesy. But all bets are off now. You just made me take you seriously." He looked down and addressed Petrovic. "Your leash is officially removed. Do what you have to do to rein in the shadow witch."
Connor Hatch spread his arms wide and raised his gaze to the heavens. A guttural scream reverberated through his chest as he was consumed with hot fire. In a wisp of air, he vanished, stray flames licking out in the sky. I swiped at him uselessly, but he was gone.
That was no blink. Connor had returned to the Aether. He was out of reach again.
Below me, Petrovic howled.
"Finally!" he cackled. "The Vucari are coming for you, Cisco. No more beating up old men."
My face darkened. The shadow cloaked me, running up both arms and my back.
"You're not safe," he yelled. "Your friends not safe."
I grumbled and tugged at shadow, invoking my patron, Opiyel. Tapping more power than was comfortable or healthy. If this guy thought he was getting another shot at my people, he was dead wrong.
Petrovic yipped and paced below in anticipation. "Fight me now," he taunted. "Or I see you another day. Maybe I get down and dirty. I make this real personal."
I sneered at the waste of oxygen below me. I brought my hand up in a fist and braced myself against the shadow. "You're not gonna do anything," I said flatly. Then the shipping container beside me screeched off its supports and crashed on top of Petrovic.
Chapter 23
The collision shook the ground. I wobbled to my knees as a mushroom cloud of dirt shot into the air. On a man-made island in the middle of the Bay, the commotion was swallowed up. Silence fell over the shipping yard.
Behind me, within the container wall, the Bone Saint initiates watched me warily. Just as they'd watched the jinn. But it wasn't lasting. Chevalier did a status check on his thralls while his companions went for the money. The elder bokor began teasing one back to life, which is something I'd never been able to do. But that's how it was with specialists. Voodoo was his whole life; I was just a dabbler.
I guess, in a way, we all surprised each other with our power.
My eyes fell on the toppled shipping container outside the wall, opposite my allies. It scraped faintly against the concrete. Was it possible? Vukasin Petrovic w
as struggling to free himself from beneath it.
"Let's get out of here," I announced to the Bone Saints. Chevalier nodded but kept working on the dead.
I hopped down on the far side and skirted the large container I'd used as a weapon. The last remaining Vucari was pinned. His wolf head and human chest were free. The rest of his body was crushed. Yet he struggled. As Darko had. Apparently the Vucari didn't like to die.
"All your strength," I said tersely, "and you go after old men."
It was just him and me here now. No one else in sight. His eyes quivered, fear for the first time entering his animal brain.
Then the shadows of the world fell away. The surroundings shifted to a state of in-betweenness. My familiar cloak disappeared.
The sun had finally set. The remaining light in the sky was substantial, but it was just the afterglow in the atmosphere. Twilight, an omnidirectional luminance that cast no shadows. That meant, for the next several minutes, my spellcraft was in check.
That was all right. I didn't need spellcraft to end Petrovic. I reached for the bronze knife at my belt.
"Now!" came a cry from deeper in the alley.
I had time to swivel towards the oncoming threat. A man and a woman in the distance. That was all I saw before being swept into the air by an unseen force.
It didn't hurt. It wasn't a physical blow or any sort of collision. And I wasn't buffeted by wind and forced into the air like a kite. I was simply drawn into flight without warning. Fifty yards from the point of takeoff, I slammed into a shipping container.
That was the part that hurt.
I didn't have time to assess the damage. Reeling from the collision, I scrambled to escape my attackers' line of sight.
"Incoming!" I yelled to Chevalier.
I approached my attackers from the other side of the container grouping. Rushed past the Bone Saints. The bokors had reattached the top of the crate and two dilapidated zombies were hauling it. One was missing its head.
I scooped up my shotgun and reloaded. I didn't have a full arsenal of fire rounds but I made sure to use one now. I peeked around the container and saw them quickly converging.
Two animists. The man was Chinese, in his twenties, clean-cut with short hair gelled into spikes. He wore a dapper suit and metallic red tie.
The girl was even younger. A teenager, maybe, with a short bob of bright red hair. She wore a dark gray blouse over skinny jeans. A collection of colorful gummy bracelets ran up her arm and some kind of wraparound scarf hung around her neck.
In her hand was a statuette. A fetish, no doubt. The man didn't carry anything so arcane. His pistol swept ahead of him, searching for me.
I didn't blink. I raised my shotgun and fired.
A cone of spark powder consumed him. He flinched, but didn't fall. Then they both flickered out.
An illusion. And not like the weak mirage from before. That had just been a trick of the light. This was a full-on constructed fabrication of reality. It wasn't sourceless, though. It likely represented who I was up against. Just not in the same location.
In answer to my question, pistol reports rang out. Sparks cascaded off the metal beside me. I threw my hand up. The turquoise shield flared brilliantly, catching the last round before it pegged me.
These animists were prepared. Not only had they come for me, but they knew to wait until twilight hit. When my shadow would be negated. I didn't have the luxury of waiting another twenty minutes till true night.
Not only that, but they knew to wait until Connor was gone. They hadn't interfered with the meeting or helped the Vucari, which meant they weren't working for the jinn.
The guy in the suit slapped a new mag in his pistol before I could reload. Modern firearms, what can I say? I threw my shield up and snapped the shotgun closed one-handed as he fired.
Everything was going dandy until the witch raised her fetish. The invisible force returned. This time, it jerked my left arm to the side, dragging my shield with it. Hollow-points peppered my chest.
"Shen!" cried the witch. "Look out!"
His eagerness to empty his magazine slowed him down. The invisible force released my hand. I slumped to the ground. The girl turned and pointed her figurine to their flank, but it was too late.
A headless thrall barreled into Shen. He was no illusion this time. They both hit the cement and his gun skidded from his grip. They tumbled over each other, but Chevalier's zombie was stronger, head or not. The thrall took top position and rained punches down on the illusionist. It was all Shen could do to protect his face.
It was all I could do to gasp for breath. Every time something floored me, I was finding it harder and harder to get up. I'd been pelted with lead this time. I ran my hand over my chest. The first two spots were sore but the rounds hadn't penetrated my charmed skin (thanks to my upgraded zombie option package). Too bad I didn't have dulled zombie nerves. The pain was brutal. But I could live with that. I was just happy he wasn't using enchanted bullets.
My finger brushed over a hole in the third hit area. So much for Superman. The wound wasn't deep. I hooked out the pieces of shattered lead but didn't have time for much more.
The girl focused on her companion. The headless zombie over him slowed as if underwater. The thrall kept pressing his advantage, though. The witch gritted her teeth. She leaned forward with both arms outstretched and muttered an incantation under her breath.
Interesting. I didn't know what kind of witch she was, but she could fling me around like a rag doll. The zombie, however, was giving her trouble. I wondered if her mojo worked great on physical things but couldn't manipulate that powered by spellcraft.
With enough exertion, she appeared to overpower it. The zombie released Shen and actually floated up in the air several feet. A weird flapping sound escaped its neckhole as it viciously spat against the magic keeping it at bay.
Shen deftly rolled to his feet. I raised my sawed off. This time I aimed for the young witch. She was a perfect target. Probably the most powerful of the two. In the distance, Chevalier's crew retreated, shoving the box of money over the ground. The Bone Saints cleared out. But they'd left me a parting gift.
I adjusted the aim of my weapon and pulled the trigger. The fireshot ripped the floating thrall apart, instantly incinerating it. The expulsion from its body was unaffected. Contagion detonated over Shen and the girl with explosive force. He flickered out but reappeared only a few feet away, not having had enough time to separate from his illusory double. He keeled over and hacked at the sickening substance that ruined his fine clothes.
The witch had protected herself. Although she coughed, her raised statue had managed to redirect the majority of the fluid. She fought through nausea and began telekinetically separating her partner from the goop that clung to him. Too little, too late. He rolled on the ground, puking.
I was hurting in different ways. My allies had booked it. And the bitch was strong. I took off like a rabbit, darting past them and making for the Port entrance.
The witch turned to stop me. I fired a load of birdshot at her. The little statuette froze all the pellets before they found their mark, but the effort had shifted her from offense to defense. I successfully rounded the corner and escaped into another alley of shipping containers. Out of sight.
I raced down the Port of Miami as fast as I could push myself. Light posts along the road activated in the failing sun. It was still twilight, but I found limited shadow to work with. I skipped ahead where I could. I wasn't sure if they were on my ass, but I didn't take chances.
Behind the wheel of my pickup, I shoved a small squeeze bottle into my wound and pushed out the thick gray gel. I bit down at the pain of the poison. It would numb me and keep the wound from going septic. I shoved a cotton ball over the top and hit the gas. Before long I was speeding down I-95, free and clear.
Free and clear. Right. Not only did I have Connor and the Russian mob to worry about, but the Vucari were completely separate players. They didn't concern them
selves with drugs and deals. They just wanted me. Throw in whatever was at the Historical Museum, then these two knuckleheads at the Port, and Cisco Suarez was a popular guy these days.
Wasn't there anybody I hadn't pissed off?
Chapter 24
I wasn't exactly bulletproof, but I was pretty close. Soft-nosed and hollow-point bullets, specifically, had trouble penetrating my toughened skin. Unfortunately, the zombie curse didn't do a damn thing for pain. It felt like a rib was cracked. Moving any of the muscles on my chest, stomach, or back hurt like hell. (For the record, it's nearly impossible to do anything without those muscles but sleep and watch TV.)
I steered the pickup with my arms at the bottom of the wheel, carefully checking my mirrors as I rolled into the Everglades. I was in no condition to be followed. It was nice and dark finally, so that was some comfort. Still, I didn't take chances. I overshot my turns and looped around and did everything I could to make sure I was alone.
I dialed Milena. I told her I'd met Petrovic and he was still alive and he was gonna go after them. She'd convinced Hernan to spend the night in the hospital, so they had that going for them. She was staying with him too. I recounted what happened at the Port and assured her I was still working on the situation, even though all I wanted to do was crawl in my bedroll and sleep it off. Milena wanted to meet up but agreed that watching her grandfather was more important until we had a substantive lead. I was fine with that. By the end of the call, it was obvious she was distracted.
"Milena," I started softly. "Are you holding up okay?"
She blew into the phone. "Sure I am. Why do you ask?"
I shook my head to myself. "I don't know. You sound a little off."
"I'm just exhausted. It's been a hell of a day. To think I was supposed to be on vacation."
"Vacation," I laughed. "What's that?"
She gave me half a snort. That was it. "I'd better go, Cisco. Call me if something happens."