by Domino Finn
The gun she had pulled on the bokor in the boathouse. I didn't know what to say. "Do you know how to use that thing?"
She gave me that look again.
I shrugged it off and stretched my legs outside the Fiat. She followed me to the gate. I scooped her off the floor in both arms and carried her Gone with the Wind style. Then I phased forward through the shadow, pulling her with me. When we solidified on the other side of the gate, her eyes were frozen mid surprise. Then she gazed at me with wonder. This close, with her face inches from mine—it was a lovely feeling.
"Wow. You can do that all the time?"
I winked. "Perks of being me."
I eased her to the floor, disappointed that her soft body had to disengage from me.
"Follow me from a distance," I instructed. "Watch my back. Only show yourself if you need to."
She didn't look at me funny this time so I assumed she agreed with the plan. I plowed ahead, not worrying about stealth or silence, until I saw the huddled figures around my family plot.
Jean-Louis Chevalier and the two bokor initiates crouched in a semicircle facing my grave. A twice-dead zombie stood behind them at the ready. I sliced open my palm with my knife, scooped up cemetery dirt, and stomped toward them.
Ten feet away, one of the bokors turned his head to me. Chevalier spun around, startled, and rose to his feet.
"Suarez!"
I lunged sideways and wrapped the zombie around the neck. My open fist shoved bloody dirt into his mouth and I whispered in his ear. "Shh."
The corpse flopped unceremoniously to the ground.
Chevalier sighed in annoyance. "Now I have to clean that up."
He wouldn't be able to reanimate the body. After a necromancer dispels zombie magic with proper graveyard dirt, that husk is done for good. I assumed whoever the corpse was in life could be tied to Little Haiti and the Bone Saints. So yeah, Chevalier would need to dispose of the body now or leave it as evidence.
"We had a deal," I growled.
All three gangbangers readied for violence. One of the initiates drew a pistol. None, however, made a move.
"I held my end," protested Chevalier.
"You didn't say anything about stealing the Horn."
"And you didn't say anything about possessing it."
I sidestepped them to check how deep they were into my grave. The answer was not very. Only a small pit was dug from the center of my plot, a bowl a couple feet wide and eight inches deep. A small contraption of sticks in the shape of a man was staked into the hole. The twigs and dried thistles were wrapped around the Horn of Subjugation like a cage.
Necromantic circles like ours had various strategies for dealing with the dead. I'd assumed the Bone Saints were attempting to hide the artifact, but I immediately recognized the truth.
This was an offering. A pyre. A miniature wicker man.
"You aren't trying to hide the Horn," I said, face darkening. "You're trying to destroy it."
Chevalier raised his head proudly, silver earrings swinging with the sudden movement. "Do you not wonder, Suarez, if maybe this world is better without it?"
"I wonder that all the time."
I leaned down and snatched the wicker man from the pit. The kids got antsy. The one with the gun raised it. Chevalier held up a silver-covered finger. They paused.
So did I. I was confident I could take the bokors if it came down to it, but that didn't mean they weren't dangerous.
"You have a gun on your back," called out Milena from behind a tree. She was twenty yards away. I was afraid she'd hit me if she fired, but the threat was more important.
Chevalier ground his teeth. "We make a good team, Suarez. This wouldn't be the first time we eradicated evil together."
"Killing is easier than solving problems," I said.
A hint of anger overtook his features. "Don't you know what the Horn can do?"
"Subjugation," I answered, not missing a beat. "I don't have any delusions that the Spaniard was a noble man in life. But I'm not looking to control Miami's voodoo elite. You have nothing to fear."
"It is not just control," he argued. "The Horn's power can enslave those gifted in the black arts. Assimilate them. The islanders speak of the wraith as a parasite. He doesn't just absorb our magic; he eats us alive. Corrupts our souls until we are something not quite living but not quite dead."
A shiver ran up my spine. A foot in both worlds. That didn't sound at all pleasant.
"I need the Horn to take down Connor."
Chevalier showed his teeth. "One man's quest for vengeance is not worth the lives of my people."
I averted my eyes to the ground. "They have my daughter, Jean-Louis."
The men watched me blankly, but I felt the tide turn.
"Ever since I got on the jinn's radar," I explained, "death has followed me. Family, friends—it didn't matter. People I loved died over and over. I won't let the same thing happen to my daughter. I can't."
Moments passed under the scrutiny of the bokor. Under the winding oak tree shadowing my grave. Eventually Chevalier lowered his arm. "I cannot stand in the way of family," he said.
I nodded and snapped the wicker man over my knees. As soon as I had the Horn in my hands, the Spaniard appeared beside me in full regalia. His red eyes blazed like wildfires. The bokors shrank away in horror. One of the kids dropped to his knees in reverence.
"I shall dispatch them!" roared the Spaniard.
"You shall not," I said firmly.
The apparition turned to me, anger evident.
After consideration, I added, "They're friends."
The wraith scoffed, but he was powerless without my blessing. He did nothing.
I tossed the remaining twigs on my grave. It was a shame. The grass had just grown in after the last time I'd dug it up. Now a pit marred the green.
"You cannot let the Horn fall into the wrong hands," warned Chevalier.
"Put my grave back the way you found it," I said. I stomped away from the defeated huddle and called out with my back to them. "And some flowers would be nice."
I caught up with Milena. We encountered no trouble getting back to the Fiat.
"Nice work," I said, wrapping the Horn in a length of cloth and hitching it to my belt.
"We needed to hurry it up," she answered, showing me her phone. "Evan texted us. We have an address."
Chapter 40
"Where are they?" I asked.
Milena started her car. "Looks like small docks and a shipping yard not too far from here. The DROP team's on the way."
"Let's beat them to it," I urged. "Let's finish this."
She sat still a moment, refusing to shift into drive. "You think Petrovic's there?"
"I know it."
Milena grew introspective again. She was thinking about Hernan. Darko. What she was willing to do to protect family. Maybe what she wished she hadn't done.
"We have to go, Milena."
I understood her reluctance. She was the toughest person I knew. But she'd never killed before. This world I'd thrust her into, it was alien to her. I wondered if she belonged in it. I wondered if letting her come along was a mistake.
But Fran didn't have time for wondering.
"We have to go," I repeated.
Milena huffed, shifted into gear, and peeled out of the cemetery lot.
"You know the way?" I asked.
She nodded silently.
The Miami streets at night are almost magical. Even in the bad neighborhoods. The contrast of the illuminated lines on fresh blacktop. The glow of the city skyline. The charged tension in the air. This is the city of hurricanes and cocaine cowboys. Residents live on the razor's edge between order and lawlessness, ripe with the appreciation that it could all be blown away at any time. Tonight, the city was more radiant than ever.
"Stop moping," I said curtly.
Milena turned to me with the evil eye.
"Not you," I said.
Seconds later, the wraith appeared in
the back seat. "You should have let me kill them," he rasped.
"The Bone Saints aren't the bad guys."
"They wished to destroy me." His eyes smoldered. "I doubt the efficacy of their efforts, but it would not have been pleasant. Their intent was clearly an attempt on my life."
"You don't have a life," I snapped. "You're dead. And they're afraid of you."
Naked teeth grinned sardonically. "As is my wise master."
I narrowed my eyes. "I'm the master of no one."
"Then free me."
"Once we get Connor."
The Spaniard leaned forward. "If you release me, I give you my word. I will fight the jinn beside you."
My jaw twitched. I didn't respond.
The apparition nodded. "You deny being my master, yet you do not deny being afraid of me."
I faced forward, avoiding his dark gaze. "What did Chevalier mean? About you eating the power of necromancers?" Milena flashed a worried glance in the rearview mirror.
The wraith's breath scraped against his throat. "The bokor speaks the truth," he answered. "But it is only one truth. Is it the sword's fault when it kills?"
"I'm not talking about what you are now. I'm talking about what kind of person you were in life. How many Taíno did you enslave? How many necromancers did you steal power from? What, exactly, was your endgame?"
He watched me with amused curiosity. "Brujo, you speak of the past as if it can be changed."
"We're too deep in shit to get philosophical, Spaniard."
"And we're almost there," added Milena, directing some sharpness to me as well. "Do you think we might wanna... I don't know... discuss an actual plan at some point?"
I stretched my neck. Squeezing into the cramped car was getting to me. And right now I wasn't too sure how I felt about working with the wraith. But he was spot on about being a weapon. That was exactly what I needed right now.
I exhaled long and slow and got to it. "Back at the Port, I noticed Connor lowered himself by fighting a zombie. Like, actually got down and dirty with it. At first I thought he was making a point. But then I ran into a witch who threw me around with spellcraft. She had trouble against the zombie too. Later on she kicked spectral-wolf ass, so it wasn't only the living that she worked against."
Milena finished my thought. "It was the dead that gave her trouble."
I nodded.
The wraith cocked his skull. "You wish to strike down the jinn with my hand."
"The dead have a different kind of power," I asserted. "Necromancy is a separate art. A forbidden one. Connor's used his blink magic to avoid my best attacks, but the zombie grabbed him. Maybe the undead interfere with his spellcraft."
"It is a dangerous assumption that I can hurt him."
"But it's a serious possibility. Connor can be hurt by the dead. That's why he wants the Horn. The undead are his weakness. With the Horn, he holds the weapon that can hurt him while also subjugating the animist population that are his biggest threat."
I thought of Tunji Malu, the vampire. As far as I knew, he was the only member of the Covey not under the spell of the heartstone. He'd served Connor willingly, but cautiously. He knew of the jinn's wrath. "That's why Tunji created me. The dead man. He strengthened my skin, gave me tattoos of protection. I wasn't just his personal hit man—I was his insurance against Connor Hatch."
"Oh," said Milena, rolling her eyes. "Well at least you don't have a persecution complex or anything."
"It's not crazy if it's true."
The Spanish conquistador leaned between us. "You are forgetting one thing, brujo. Until now, you have used my power judiciously. You have never exposed me to the jinn for fear that he might usurp that power. And now you ask me to confront him."
I licked my lips. "It's a risk."
"It doesn't have to be."
I locked eyes with him.
"Despite your protests, brujo, I am a slave. Not to you, perhaps, but to the Horn. It limits my spellcraft. It binds me to service. If you truly want the best shot at defeating the jinn, you must release me from the Horn's embrace." The apparition's shriveled fingers shook with anticipation. "I will grant you power unimaginable. I will instruct you in the lost arts. I will stand beside you against your greatest enemy."
I clenched my jaw. I'll give the Spaniard one thing. He was persistent. It was a tempting offer, made more so by the realization that the wraith was the perfect ally against Connor.
It was obvious now why so many wanted the Horn of Subjugation. Even if it had more nefarious purposes than I'd consider using, there were other gains as well. The Spaniard was wise beyond his years. A formidable necromancer in life, even more so in death. He could teach me a lot.
I wondered how much I could force out of him with a more draconian hand. But that was the temptation of power talking. That wasn't me.
Milena pulled the car along the Miami River. Its black water reflected the city lights like stars.
I steadied my voice. "What you're offering sounds like a long-term proposition. Training. Planning. Working hand in hand. We don't have time for that."
The apparition hissed. "We cannot face the jinn tonight. We are not ready. We will lose."
"We have no choice," I snapped. "We're going in there together. We're gonna do this."
"And so you crack the whip."
I grunted. "They have my daughter. Right here, right now. There's no time for anything else."
"Daughter?" The conquistador cocked his skull. The red fires within burned evenly. I wondered what thoughts drove him. Was it possible to retain any semblance of humanity in that state of undeath?
The wraith and I had made a deal fair and square. So far, for all his offers and objections, he was living up to his end of the bargain. I didn't know what kind of person he'd been, but I knew what kind of person I was. I would live up to my side of the bargain as well. When the time came, I would set him free, even if I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do.
"You see what this means, brujo?" asked the wraith somberly. "By attacking his powder trade, we had hoped to force the jinn into a corner. But he has turned the tables. He is forcing you to act in desperation."
I swallowed. It couldn't be helped.
The Spaniard leaned back in the seat and faded out. "Then the jinn has already won."
Chapter 41
We parked behind a line of police cruisers on South River Drive. A thin row of trees and a waist-high wall were all that separated the sidewalk from the marina. Multiple concrete platforms protruded into the river, some ending in narrow docks and crowded by small skiffs. A squad of police officers with DROP team uniforms held binoculars to a distant building on the largest platform.
"Where's Evan?" I asked, coming up behind them. They flinched. It probably wasn't the best idea to surprise heavily armed SWAT units, but I was full of bad ideas.
Most of the men went back to their surveillance, but one broke it down for me. "No tangos outside the building. No activity either, but we don't have eyes inside yet. The lieutenant is breaching with Drop 1."
"He's already inside?" I cursed and headed down the street.
"Hey. You can't go in there," warned the officer.
"Try and stop me," I said, not bothering to turn around. Nobody tackled me so I figured I was fine.
I cut into the property and circled the building to find Evan and three cops standing flush with the wall, weapons drawn. He did a double take when he saw me.
I patted him on the shoulder. "What do you got?"
"Movement inside. We're getting a closer look."
"Is it them?"
"We're getting a closer look," he repeated through clenched teeth.
Evan pointed to two of his men and directed them around the corner with hand signals. One held a small battering ram and the other a flash grenade. They positioned themselves on either side of the door. Evan counted with his fingers. One, two, three.
They smashed the door open, flung the flashbang inside, and took cover aga
inst the wall. I looked away. White light reflected off the ground. By the time I picked my head up, two of the officers were already breaching. Evan spun to the door.
"Miami Police!" they yelled. "Nobody move! Guns down!"
Despite the sensible instructions, chaos overtook the quiet marina warehouse. Gunfire erupted within. I thrust my arm over Evan's shoulder and sparked my shield just in time to deflect a round.
SWAT rifles returned fire. Peeking inside, I saw the problem. The warehouse was littered with metal crates. Not a maze of shipping container walls like at the Port, but plenty of cover nonetheless. Men with weapons were scattered throughout the room, hunkered down. The obstructions were good news for the officers that had already taken position, but it meant this could be an extended firefight.
"Returning fire!" yelled Evan into his radio. "DROP 2 is go!"
A door on the opposite wall crashed open. The two officers already inside crouched down behind their cover. Evan turned to me and said, "Eyes down," and then ran inside. I chased after him, shield up, watching the floor as a second grenade went off.
Panic surged through the ranks of gunmen as they realized they were surrounded. Evan and I slid into position behind a crate. I surveyed the warehouse.
"These guys are Russians," I told him.
Evan nodded and gritted his teeth. Then we both noticed Milena hunching down next to us.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I clearly have no idea," she said, squeezing her eyes shut.
Errant shots went over our heads and we all ducked further.
"Screw you, pigs!" came a familiar voice. It was the Ukrainian muscle-shake junkie, at an elevated position with two other men. Between a crate and the corner of the wall, they were entrenched.
"Flash!" called out someone in DROP 2. One officer suppressed the elevated position while another lobbed a grenade across the width of the room. It came up short and popped on the near side of the wall. A couple of us, myself included, caught some of the backlash. I had to sit back to recover.
"We gotta get over there," I said.
"Negative," replied Evan. "Drop 1 is handling the center of the room. We're pinned down here. There's not enough cover to flank that position."