Bella Flores Urban Fantasy Collection

by R D Martin

  Looking over her shoulder, she nodded as she saw Ray disappear into the surrounding darkness. She’d been afraid he’d insist on following her in, and as much as she liked him, he’d just get in her way. They’d spent some time arguing about that, but after she told him she’d freeze him in place if she had to, he relented. Pouting, she decided, was not a good look on the man. The quiet continued to stretch, just on the verge of snapping but never quite reaching it, before he spoke.

  “He will know you’re coming, won’t he? I mean, you’re carrying the doll,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

  She nodded, not sure where he was going with this. She’d had the same thought running through her mind for more than an hour, and it made her insides squirm.

  “So, if he’s keeping an eye on you, he won’t be looking out for me. I mean, I don’t have magic, so I’m not a threat.”

  “That’s,” she started. He was telling the truth, at least to a certain extent. A fight with the Baron would involve magic and he could neither fight back nor protect himself. Her mouth hung open as she tried to figure out what to say next.

  “I thought as much.” His lips pressed in a thin line before he continued. “So why don’t we use that to our advantage?”

  “How?”

  “Well, what if I moved around the back of the graveyard? You get close but stay hidden, then I do something. Something big and loud. Make as much of a distraction as possible, enough so he thinks we’re attacking from the rear. He turns around and BAM!, you hit him from behind.”

  “I suppose,” she said, letting the comment stretch as she considered. There was some merit to the idea. Magic fights didn’t always come down to who was stronger. Sometimes the deciding factor was who struck first. If she could hit him first, hit him hard, then it was possible they could walk away from this. The longer she considered, the more she liked the plan. At the very least, if it failed, Ray wouldn’t be in the Baron’s crosshairs. And if it succeeded, well, she’d be surprised if it did. Still, his plan was better than nothing.

  Moving with stealth along the gravel path was impossible as the tiny rocks crunched with each step she took. Needing any advantage she could get, she moved off the path and between the tombs, wending her way closer to Mama Ade’s resting spot. Ducking low, she flitted through shadows, hugging the walls of each mausoleum like they were the only things keeping her from floating away. The soft chirp of crickets accompanied her as she worked her way forward.

  A dozen yards from the old woman’s crypt, orange lights flared in the darkness and she froze. Placing the doll on the ground, leaning against the side of a newer tomb, she crept forward, keeping her gaze down to save her night vision.

  Sounds, harsh and guttural, drifted through the air, making her skin crawl. As she approached the lit area, she realized the light came from torches set in a circle. These weren’t Tiki torches set up to add atmosphere to a garden party, but honest torches stabbed into the ground, each one emanating a thick black smoke as its harsh flame danced in the light breeze.

  Standing in the center of the space, a bottle of dark liquor in one hand and a cigar in the other, was the painted man himself.

  This close to him, her heart fluttered and her stomach twisted in knots. She’d forgotten how much power the man radiated and was now reminded of it. She watched as he took a long drag on his cigar and exhaled a blue cloud of smoke. Even as it left his lips, he continued singing in his deep voice, making him look as if he were breathing blue flames.

  She knew she would get only one shot at him and couldn’t afford to waste it. She needed to know the amount of protection surrounding the painted man. Closing her eyes, she opened herself to the world of magic and examined him through its multicolored mists and almost gasped aloud.

  Just like the doll, the man was a void in the world of magic, pushing the mists away from himself with every movement. As she watched his arm flail about, directing an orchestra only he could hear, she couldn’t see any of the signs showing a spell was active and working to separate him from magic. It was as if the mists just refused to touch him.

  Good, she thought, opening her eyes again. She squinted against the sickly orange light from the torches for a moment, trying to regain what little night vision she had left. He hadn’t set up any wards or shields, so a direct attack would hit him without slowing down. All she had to do was wait for Ray’s distraction and they had this in the bag.

  Pulling deeper into the shadows surrounding her, waiting for whatever Ray had in mind, she sifted through the combinations of magic she knew would do the most damage. She could lead with fire, following up with electricity. After that, she…

  Why doesn’t he have wards?

  The thought, one she’d pushed to the back of her mind, fought its way to the front again.

  The man was more than a century and a half old. Living that long, he’d know to always have precautions in place. And if he wasn’t using wards, what was he using? Was there something she’d never seen before? She couldn’t assume he was just so confident in his own powers he could stop anything she threw at him, could she?

  Heart pounding so hard it threatened to burst from her chest, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing mind. He was powerful, no doubt. That’s why the sneak attack was their best chance at taking him down. But it was like he didn’t care if they attacked or not. He wasn’t that powerful, was he?

  His guttural singing cut off as, some distance back in the trees surrounding the graveyard, Ray began screaming like a banshee. His hollering woke a nesting flock of birds, sending them spiraling into the air. No time left to think, she stood and stepped around a corner into the torchlight.

  Opening herself, she allowed magic to flood through her, washing away her fears and anxiety as it burned through every inch of her body. Concentrating, she gave form to the power and, thrusting her hands out, sent a stream of liquid fire flying across the space between her and the painted man. He must have felt the spell coming though, because the moment before it struck, he turned, taking the impact on his side rather than back. In the instant before flames engulfed his body, she almost thought his smile widened.

  As the flames shot up, turning him into a larger version of one of his own torches, she hurled another stream of magic at him, holding it longer than the first. This was her one chance, and she would not waste it. Beneath her magical onslaught, flesh crisped, and burned, turning to ash even as the fire spread. The Baron became a pyre and, as Bella pushed all the force she could into the spell, his real bones were uncovered, only to blacken and char like the rest of him.

  Her heart raced, and electricity ran up and down her spine as the power flooded through her. Every nerve stood on edge as she watched her spell take apart the standing form of the Baron. Unable to push any more magic into the spell, she let it die. With the bright light of her spell gone, she stood in awe at what she’d done. As the still form of the Baron continued to burn, it dropped first to one knee, then the other, as though bowing to her might before falling to the ground.

  Stepping around the burning form, she made for the fence and called out to Ray without taking her eyes off the burning corpse. His screaming stopped, and as though he possessed magic of his own, he appeared behind her without making a noise.

  “We did it?” he asked, making her jump a little, as if standing in a graveyard with a burning body wasn’t enough to make anyone skittish. He sounded more surprised than pleased at their accomplishment, as though he’d expected them to fail before starting.

  “I think,” she said, watching the remaining ash pile of what used to be the Baron fall in on itself. “I think so. I mean.” She waved her hand at the pile as though it could say everything she could not.

  “Yes!” Ray yelled, startling both her and some small creatures scurrying through the underbrush. His normal lazy smile returned, though this time it was large enough to threaten splitting his head in half. His smile shone in the light of the torches even as
the flame encompassing the Baron’s remains died down to small flickers.

  His joy seemed to spread, and even she felt the corners of her lips lift in a smile. They’d spent so much time worrying on this, so much time wondering if anything they did would work, and now they stood victorious.

  Giving a short hop, he grabbed the top of the iron fence circling the graveyard and heaved, lifting himself even with its upper edge. His muscles flexed beneath his tight shirt and, giving her a wink, he threw his leg over the top to complete the maneuver.

  The squeal of iron was the only sound she heard before he screamed. One post holding up the old fence shot up, impaling his hand and corkscrewing through the air, stopping inches from his face. Another squeal and a post farther down extended up and around, trapping his leg as it whipped around him. It was like the fence was alive and upset at him for not using the front gate.

  Jumping back, avoiding flailing stanchions, she watched, helpless, as the fence wrapped around him, binding him to itself in an unbreakable embrace.

  “That wasn’t nice, Cher,” came a voice full of mirth, carried on the wind, and echoing in the darkness. “And here I spent the time to set this up for y’all, even giving us some light to work by.”

  A thud, accompanying by a resounding crack, bounced between stone structures. Another thump and crack followed the first. Just on the edge of the circle of light, a large crack appeared in the face of a family crypt, running up and down the front as though someone inside was trying to open a door.

  Between thuds, Ray’s whimper pulled at her attention. Turning, she stepped forward and sent a flow of magic into him. Except for the iron spike driven through the palm of his hand, he didn’t look hurt, though his face had gone ashen white. As he pulled his head back, there was a groan of metal and the spike aimed at his face moved, keeping itself aimed at a spot just between his eyes.

  A loud pop and an explosion of concrete sounded behind her. Spinning, she crouched down, covering her head and face with her arms, though the rain of stone pebbles fell short of her position. Through the cloud of dust billowing from the new hole in the structure's front strode a short man in a dark suit. Even as he stared at her with milky eyes, a short cigar appeared in his hand. Taking a drag on it, he puffed out a cloud of blue smoke that surrounded him like a shroud.

  “Y’all know. I’m gonna miss that body,” the man said, grinning widely, showing a mouth filled with too white teeth. “We’ve been together for such a long time.”

  23

  “The problem,” the new arrival said, taking another drag on his miniature cigar, “is that human bodies just aren’t built to last. And they take so much energy to repair, it’s surprising that any of you make it more than a few decades.”

  “What…” she started, trying to wrap her mind around what the man said. It made as much sense as an E.T. dropping from the sky and starting a conversation on the fluid dynamics of round spacecraft. Finally, she opted for the most obvious question. “What are you?”

  “You haven’t figured out that one, Cher? I’m surprised. I’d have thought Mama Ade had told you that much at least.”

  Though she shook her head, she realized it didn’t matter. Whatever this creature was, it still needed to be dealt with. Opening herself to the flow of magic, she wove its threads to form a spell to destroy the thing in front of her.

  “Ah now. Can’t have that, can we?” the short man said. Lifting one arm, he waved it lazily in the air, parting his blue smoke cloud in the process.

  The magic filling her every fiber disappeared as though it was nothing more than a fond dream, leaving her hollow and cold. Stunned, she tried to access it again, but the power refused to come. A cold flush ran through her as she realized he’d cut her off from the source, making her as helpless as Ray.

  “How, what did you do?” she demanded, fighting back the hysteria building at the edges of her mind.

  “You know, I watched humans for thousands of years and in all that time, I learned one important thing. You creatures are predictable. You follow the same patterns over and over again. Making the same mistakes, fighting the same silly wars, and working toward making yourselves as miserable as possible. At first, I thought it was amusing, but over time it became boring.”

  Stepping over the pile of rubble in front of him, the man drew close enough that she could smell the rot of decaying flesh. It was like the last piece of a 3-D jigsaw puzzle had fallen into place, and she finally got a view of the entire picture.

  “You’re a Loa, one of the spirits.”

  “Oh, so close, but still wrong. I am what you’d call a spirit, but I’m no Loa. They’re satisfied coming when invited and leaving when the party’s over. Me, well, I don’t want the party to end.”

  Striding past her, he pushed around the ashes of his former body with the tip of his shoe. He turned, scanning the ground as though looking for something lost, then squealed like a schoolboy as he squatted in the gravel at the edge of the torchlight. Standing, he held a skinny bottle in his hand, and the smile on his face grew even wider. Spinning the cap off, he raised the bottle and drank its contents in less than a second.

  “Ah,” he said, smacking his lips. “Knew I’d dropped it somewhere around here.”

  Staring at him, she couldn’t stop comparing his satisfied expression to a cat playing with a new toy. Unfortunately, her twisting gut told her she was the new toy.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked. She needed time to think, time to plan. Most importantly, though, she needed time to get her magic back. Without it, there was no way she could fight.

  “Oh, that’s easy. First, I will get that damn doll back. I don’t know how that Witch stole some of my essence to make it, but I’m done with it.” Turning his head, he made a coughing sound and spat something green and yellow at Mama Ade’s tomb. It hit with a wet smack and hung there like a new decoration to the old brick and mortar. “After that, well, there’s nothing holding me here anymore. Maybe I’ll go somewhere… interesting.”

  The way he said it, she couldn’t help feeling his idea of interesting and hers were wildly different.

  “And?” she said. Keep him talking, if he’s talking, he’s not acting. Opening her inner sight to the magic surrounding them, she watched the colored mists flowing around and through everything part around him like cloth sheered by scissors honed razor sharp. How could he manipulate magic when it didn’t even want to touch him?

  Bella’s head swam with vertigo as she turned her sight around and looked at herself through the mists for the first time. In her mind’s eye, she looked as she’d always imagined herself to be, though not as she was in reality. It wasn’t too far off, however. Her form here was lithe and curved where she had a little more padding than she was happy with. She’d never considered herself fat, but this version of her was lean like a dancer after decades of practice. And she was tall. She’d never really bothered much about her height in life, but somewhere in the back of her mind she must have wished to be a little taller. Somehow it was reassuring that, even if it was just in the world of the mists, her mind saw her as close to being what she was.

  As distracting as it was to look at herself, even more distracting were the mists surrounding her. They flowed and ebbed with the same patterns she’d become used to seeing. However, as they approached her form, it was like they ran into a wall surrounding her. The mists flowed over and around her so smoothly she could almost see the spell keeping her from accessing their power, though try as she might, she couldn’t spot any weakness or cracks in the shield. As eggshell thin as the spell was, it kept her just as trapped as a baby chick. A shudder ran through her, and the fear she’d been pushing down threatened to drown her.

  In that space between spaces, she took a breath, imagining a small flame. She needed to think if she wanted to survive. Just as she’d been taught, she fed her emotions into the flame, beginning with her rising tide of fear. Once that disappeared, she moved on to the next distraction,
then the next until nothing was left but the flame and the emptiness. Somewhere in the distance, she heard Ray moan, and before it could even register, the thought of him in pain or dying was fed into the flame.

  Though the calmness, she stared into the colored mists swirling so close she could almost touch them, though they might as well have been on the moon for all the good they did her. Try as she might, opening herself to magic was useless at this point.

  A small light, a pinprick of thought in the emptiness of her mind, twinkled in the distance. Without hesitation, she plucked it from its point in her mind and rushed it toward the flame. As she moved to thrust the stray idea into the fire, she hesitated. It wasn’t an emotion, but a memory, one of her and Gar sitting at one of their many lessons.

  Taking a second to examine it, she remembered the lesson. He’d been trying to break her of the habit of using runes without first visualizing their intent by drawing runes as opposites. No matter how hard she’d tried, drawing a fire rune never summoned a single ounce of water. It was almost as useless a lesson as the ones on Guided magic he’d tried so hard to teach.

  The thought of Guided magic sparked another memory, their first practical exercise where he’d danced with a marionette of flame. It should have been impossible, yet not one hair of his shaggy coat had been singed. It was, he explained, about willpower. Control the magic without acting like its conduit. Mama Ade had droned on the same way about Voodoo in New Orleans, though she called it belief.

  Was it really that simple? Was controlling the mists of magic nothing more than believing she could do it and having the willpower to act on it?

  Pushing the thoughts to the side, she concentrated on the man holding her hostage. The mists didn’t touch him at all, yet he held her in place just as tight as Gar had ever done. The darkness surrounding him seemed to feed in on itself, a never-ending loop of swirling mass animating the corpse of the deceased.