Powder Trade (Black Magic Outlaw Book 4)

by Domino Finn

  "So where is it?" she asked.

  I turned away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  The gargoyle shoved me. "Shall I flay him?" he asked. Then he leaned in to me. "I detest blood under my nails, but for you I might make an exception."

  I smiled. If Biker Chick had a no-killing rule, I didn't think she'd give her pet free reign to spill blood. Still, better not to antagonize him. I kept quiet.

  The woman sighed and stepped away from us to study my lodgings. "This humidity is frizzing my hair," she complained nonchalantly.

  I watched her in amusement. "It's eighty degrees outside. What're you wearing all that leather for?"

  Biker Chick shrugged. "I'm a West Coast gal. What can I say?"

  Jeez, a professional thief from across the country. Connor had spared no expense.

  "So," I said, working it out, "you started with museums, looking for signs of Taíno artifacts. You somehow got word of Dr. Trinidad's side project and put pressure on her to get the Horn from me. That it?" All the pieces fit. That was why the gargoyle had jumped me in the hallway. They were hoping I'd brought the artifact in for study.

  The summoner paced around me and out of my vision. I flipped my head to the other side but still couldn't see her.

  "I put a trace on your phone and had her call you," she admitted, "but it seems like you destroyed it."

  "So you snuck into my pickup after the meet with Connor. Smart."

  At least that meant I hadn't been followed. After my earlier conversation with Milena, she would never let me live that down. Not that I'd tell her about this. My arm tingled with pins and needles. I shifted my weight to ease the pressure.

  "So?" she asked impatiently. "It's not in your truck. It's not in your van. It's not on your shelf of curios."

  I clamped my mouth shut. The veneer of shadow that clung to the lead safe was unnatural but inconspicuous. It wasn't a real illusion and anything as simple as a flashlight could dispel it, but apparently Biker Chick hadn't found it.

  "By the way," I asked, "What's your name? Otherwise I have to keep calling you Biker Chick in my head."

  "This one is insolent," growled the gargoyle. He jumped off me, which hurt more than expected but at least returned the flow of blood to my body. The ensuing relief was short-lived. Bernard tugged the neck chain a foot in the air. I had to roll to my side to breathe.

  "Don't assume I have the same qualms about killing as she does," he warned.

  "Aren't gargoyles supposed to be protectors of mankind or something?" I asked.

  "You tell me," he answered. The beast cupped the top of my head with clawed fingers and began to squeeze. I suddenly felt like I'd been doing vodka shots for a week straight.

  "You've got to be shitting me," said the summoner, holding up her hand passively.

  Thankfully, the gargoyle released me. Biker Chick was staring past my bedroll at the dark corner in the room. What did I say? It was a weak camouflage. More of a party trick, really. Animists with skill could pick it apart. Oversized boots clunked across the room to my safe.

  "It's not even closed," she said, almost disappointed.

  "You don't wanna do that," I warned.

  She turned and reached for the broken door.

  "Do something!" I yelled, appealing to the Spaniard who had thus far remained silent.

  The door of the safe creaked open. The summoner pulled out the double-wide briefcase and set it on the floor. "What have we here?" she said to herself.

  What the...

  I watched her surprise when she realized the case didn't close properly. Some outlaw I was. A safe that couldn't lock and a briefcase of cash that couldn't close. She flipped the top open. Her features went hard. She flung the briefcase against the wall. Bricks of cash bounced to the floor.

  "Where is it?" she demanded, turning to me.

  Behind her, the safe was empty.

  No, seriously. What the—?

  My head spun to the road, to where Chevalier had driven off just moments before. That son of a bastard had taken off with more than just cash and cocaine.

  "It's not here?" asked the gargoyle.

  Biker Chick caught my gaze. I pulled it away but it was too late. She understood. "The gangbanger," she cried in frustration. "The damned Haitians have the Horn."

  Her panic turned to anger. I meekly shrugged in mock sympathy. "Hey, I'm a victim too."

  I'd expected another snarl from the gargoyle, but even Biker Chick had her limits. Her heavy boots stomped toward me so fast I didn't have time to regret the comment. An armored boot hit me square in the head.

  Glass jaw or not, no chance staying conscious for that one.

  Chapter 27

  I had a dream I was rocking in shallow waves on a beach, choking on the foamy surf. I woke up confused. Found it hard to breathe. I remembered the collar around my neck and eased my arms higher so I wouldn't tug on it. I was lying on my stomach on a metal floor. This wasn't my boathouse. I was in some kind of vehicle, rumbling shakily in the Miami night.

  My chains clinked as I turned. Half my face was plastered in powder. I coughed and a cloud of cocaine swirled away.

  I was in the damn drug van.

  The summoner drove while her pet sat on the floor behind the passenger seat. Watching me. His golden eyes flickered when I stirred.

  "Shyla," he called, countless teeth frowning. "He's not dead." I think he was disappointed.

  She swiveled around while she drove to check on me. I couldn't see where we were from the floor but assumed we were after Chevalier. Biker Chick—excuse me, Shyla—wanted to find the Horn. Why I was here was anybody's guess. I suppose you hold onto insurance for as long as you can.

  "He's not going anywhere," she said dismissively.

  I rested my chin on the floor of the van. "Shyla, is it?" I asked, all smiles and charm. "I'm Cisco. I know you know that, but I figured we could start over, you know?"

  No answer.

  "How much is Connor paying you for this gig? Maybe I could outbid him."

  "I doubt you could afford it," she said.

  I grinned with confident machismo. "You'd be surprised. I came into some money recently and—" I paused, noticing the two garbage bags that sandwiched me. "Hey! That's my money!"

  Shyla snickered. "Like I said, you can't afford it."

  The smile fled my face. "You don't get to keep that, you know. That's Connor Hatch's money. I don't think he'd appreciate you appropriating it."

  She shrugged. "Count your blessings. I left you the scraps you had in that briefcase."

  Scraps? That was three-quarters of a million dollars in there. Maybe she hadn't realized the bills were all hundreds.

  "Only because we were in a hurry," added Bernard. He turned to the road ahead and yawned. Great. Even the gargoyle was getting bored with me.

  "Hey," I said. He ignored me. "Hey!"

  He turned.

  "Where are you from anyway? The Nether?"

  He smiled. "The World Below, human." His voice was calm. Even though he wanted to rip my head off, he came off stately.

  My forehead crinkled. "The Nether is below."

  "You must imagine even further, then. Below your dreaded steppes."

  My face darkened. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You're a hellion?"

  He snickered and looked away.

  I feel inclined to point out that I don't really believe in hell. But why juggle semantics while staring at a demon? This thing qualified for that moniker more than anything I'd ever seen. Suddenly I could understand the beliefs of millions of people worldwide. The idea of a wicked place far below ours.

  I needed get out of this mess, stat.

  I repositioned on my side to get a look around. I was being watched, of course, but I kept my movements slow and casual. A grunt as I stretched my neck. Just getting comfortable.

  When Shyla had listed off my talents at the boathouse, she hadn't mentioned metallurgy. Maybe she knew about it and maybe she didn't. I
t was my weakest angle, really. Nearly useless. With focused, uninterrupted effort, I could break simple metals, as long as they weren't reinforced.

  The shackles on my wrists and neck were no joke. Cartoon-sized bars of steel. Those things weren't going anywhere. The chain connecting them was more reasonable.

  Within my capacity to break, however? Probably not. Like I said, this was my weakest spellcraft. The things I could snap apart were mostly breakable anyway. A novelty pair of handcuffs were no problem to slip. Police-grade gave me problems. My current shackles? Judging by their weight, I was going with rhinoceros-grade. I cursed my lack of metallurgy practice, but I only had myself to blame.

  I tried anyway. I awkwardly wrapped my fingers around a single central link that connected the cuffs with the neck chain, focused the flow of the Intrinsics into that band of metal, and pulled. My face must've turned beet red with the effort.

  The gargoyle chortled. "Keep still, human." He rapped my head lightly with a foot. "Lightly" is relative.

  "Don't hurt him," ordered Shyla. "He's my prisoner."

  "Not if we kill him," he grumbled under his breath.

  "Besides," she said. "We've got him. The black van, up ahead."

  All eyes went to the windshield, including mine. I strained to raise my head. We passed through an intersection and I caught a glimpse of the Miami Avenue sign. I didn't see the cross street but it was a good bet we were headed to Little Haiti. And the black van meant she'd found Chevalier.

  I wondered how she'd managed that. The bokors should've been way ahead of us (unless they'd stopped for churros). Managing to catch them en route was impressive. Or maybe it just showed what a sad fight I'd put up.

  "I'm gonna run him off the road," said Shyla. "As soon as they hit the curb, jump out the back and subdue the bokor."

  "With pleasure," answered Bernard, licking his lips.

  "Get in their van if you can," she added. "I don't want undue exposure."

  He nodded as she placed her phone on the center console. It had a map up with a waypoint—some kind of tracking program. That was how she found him. She'd mentioned trying to track my burners. There was a good bet Chevalier wasn't as careful with his phone as I was. I tried to get eyes on the Bone Saints ahead of us, but I couldn't see anything at ground level.

  "Here we go," said Shyla. The drug van accelerated. Bernard's claws tightened around the headrest of the passenger seat.

  The van pulled alongside the bokor's. Chevalier turned to look out his open window. We swerved into him.

  We jerked to the side as the vans collided. I skipped across the floor and hit the wall with a grunt. The van slowed as Shyla corrected her steering.

  This was the distraction I needed. I tightened my jaw and kept trying to break the shackles.

  The gargoyle hissed as Shyla gunned the accelerator again. Tires squealed on the street ahead. We swerved back and forth. Chevalier was taking evasive maneuvers now, making it difficult for the summoner to pull beside him. It was hard for me to brace myself since I couldn't see the chase and anticipate our turns.

  "Have it your way," muttered Shyla. She rammed right into the back of the other van.

  I jolted forward, pulling my knees to my chin and scrunching up like a ball to protect my head. It wasn't just me shooting around like a pinball, but the various other loose objects in the van. The bags of money were the least of my concern. Compared to everything else, they were giant pillows. The stone gargoyle was a static obstacle, but various metal implements like an empty rifle, tackle box, and bolt cutters were all dangerous in their own right.

  Hold up a minute. Was I sliding around the back of this van with a pair of bolt cutters? Thank you, Manolo.

  At the next swerve, I kicked my boot out and scooped them toward me. I rolled around to hide them behind my back. The gargoyle checked on me but didn't seem overly concerned.

  I grabbed the bolt cutters. Fitted the teeth around the chain. Only then did I realize my predicament. My wrists were right next to the link that needed snapping. There was no way my hands would have enough leverage.

  I pulled my feet up and tried pressing them over the handle, but the alligator boots kept slipping. I couldn't get a good grip.

  We swerved a couple more times and I got a bright idea. I propped the bolt cutters against my back and the wall of the van, teeth tightened over the link. I pressed into the wall, trying to get enough force to snap the chain.

  Without warning, the van suddenly jerked to the side and hit something. Metal crunched. The right window shattered. Outside, Chevalier's black van spun sideways. Then I realized it was us spinning. We were out of control. Shyla steered into the turn but we slid off the street backward. The floor rocked up as we hit a curb. I bounced to the other side of the van and lost the bolt cutters. The engine cut out and we rolled to a stop.

  "Shit!" cried the summoner, trying and failing to restart the van.

  "He's getting away," reminded Bernard. All the power to summon a creature from another world and you get insight like that. The gargoyle looked me over to make sure I was still being a good little animist and then turned away when the van started again. All three of us jostled as the tires bounced back onto the street. The van gathered speed again as Shyla rushed to catch up.

  I slid over, grabbed the bolt cutters behind my back, and rolled to the wall. As I tried to put it in position, the gargoyle narrowed his eyes.

  "Shadow charmer," he growled. "What are you up to?"

  I relaxed. "Oh, you know, just waiting for you to uncuff me so I can kick your ass."

  A long tongue slipped between his lips as he hissed. "Insolent human."

  "I gotta tell you, that hurts, coming from a walking cinder block."

  The gargoyle reached for me but a sudden siren made him freeze. Outside. Behind us. It had blared suddenly but now settled into a protracted series of crescendos.

  I never thought I'd be so happy to hear the cops.

  Chapter 28

  "Not good," remarked Shyla, checking her side mirror. Maybe her pet gargoyle gets the stating-the-obvious stuff from her.

  She faced us, looking for advice maybe. Stoney and I had blank expressions. That seemed to frazzle her more. As she considered her options, I waited with the bolt cutters behind my back, considering mine.

  I mean, it was good the police were after us, right? What kidnappee doesn't want to hear those sirens? And it wasn't like I was a fugitive anymore. The police knew about the drug hits, but they weren't wise to me. I didn't have ID. If worse came to worse I could always give them the ol' me-no-speakee-English bit. Evan told me they love that.

  Then again, I was currently in a van from one of said drug hits. Hell, the interior was lined with cocaine. At this point, so was I. The back windows were tinted but spiderwebbed with cracks. One observant police officer would figure things out real quick. And that was if the van wasn't already on their radar. (Somehow, I kinda doubted it was. What drug dealer in their right mind reports their drug van stolen?)

  "Okay," said Shyla after gathering herself. "We're gonna pull over."

  The gargoyle smiled. "I can handle the officer."

  "No," she said. "We don't want trouble. I was speeding. He'll write me a ticket and be on his way."

  I snorted. "Not if you can't show him registration. Look, get me out of these chains, unsummon your pet, and I'll pull the shadow over us. The cop won't see anyone inside and will search the area, thinking we ditched. No one gets hurt and we all win."

  She tightened her lips and pondered my offer. There were complications with my plan, of course, but I didn't point those out. I just wanted to get her on my side. In the meantime, the van slowed and turned down a dark side street. She stopped a block in, pulling the cop out of sight. Just in case she needed to handle him.

  Shyla turned to me. "No. I'm gonna talk or bribe my way out of this. If you make a sound, I'll have no choice but to hurt him." She locked eyes with the gargoyle. "If he opens the back, we need to subdue
him. But no killing."

  The beast grumbled. I suspected she constantly muzzled his bloodthirsty inclinations.

  Shyla shifted the van into park. Red and blue lighting reflected off the telephone pole and building ahead. We waited in tense silence for a minute. The cop was running the plate. Was the van stolen?

  "Screw this," said the summoner, and jumped out. As soon as she slammed the door, a loudspeaker blared.

  "Stay in the van!" ordered the officer.

  Her voice was muted. "It's just that—"

  "Stay in the v— Too late. Hands against the van. Now."

  The gargoyle released a guttural breath and listened. I'm sure he felt helpless back here. Ducking down, we couldn't see anything.

  A door opened but didn't close. Just one cop, I thought.

  "I'm sorry, Officer, I thought you wanted me to get out."

  "That's okay," came a voice. "Just don't move. Is anyone else in the van?"

  "No," she said. "Just me."

  Bernard leaned close and ran his tongue over rows of teeth. "Remember," he whispered. "If you make a sound, I'll kill him."

  Shyla didn't want bodies, but letting something like this loose was reckless. The hellion played rough, plain and simple. One overeager swipe of a tail could cave the officer's skull in. I clenched my jaw. Not a lot of options here. I slowly fit the teeth of the bolt cutters around the link I needed to break.

  "You know," said Shyla outside. "This is actually my boss' van. I checked the glove box but I have no idea where the registration is. I can call him, if you like."

  "That's okay. Just stay there. Keep your hands where I can see them."

  A flashlight beam shone through the driver's window. It swept over the dash and the seats. The gargoyle leaned in and huddled his wings over us as the light angled to the back. I had chains on which meant I couldn't slip into shadow, and manifestations were tough with my hands bound, but that didn't mean I couldn't tweak the darkness some. I blanketed it over us, even though the flashlight would illuminate anything it directly pointed at.