by Domino Finn
I canted my head. "Find a penny, pick it up. All day long you'll have good luck."
"And here I was hoping to catch you in a lie." Simon straightened his baby-blue tie. "And thus comes our offer to you. You're a capable animist who gets things done, one way or another. I see some of my younger self in you."
I held up a hand. "I'm gonna stop you right there, Pinstripes. I already told you, I'm not interested in joining the union."
He frowned but wasn't put off. "That's your decision, of course, but it doesn't mean we can't reach a mutually beneficial arrangement. I'm not only proposing a truce, but a deal. A contract of sorts, service for service."
"I don't want anything to do with the Society."
"That's why you're perfect! You're a free agent, without known associations to us. The ideal investigator."
So they wanted me to look into something. In return for... "And what could I possibly need from you?"
His face went flat. "Come on, Cisco, let's be serious for a minute. You have a new condo in an expensive neighborhood. You have a million plus under your mattress. You're trying to hide your ill-gotten gains by having your friends sign the papers to help you out. It's a stop-gap measure to get you started at best. Only a matter of time before the illegitimate money is apparent. As your lawyer I recommend—"
"You're not my lawyer."
"Fine. Then, as your debonair rival, I feel the need to point out the painfully obvious benefits of the Society's influence. We can get you set up with a legitimate financial history, clean all your money and bring it into the banks, and otherwise perpetuate the illusion that you didn't plunder the wealth of a deposed Caribbean drug kingpin."
I bit down my snarky reply halfway through his speech.
He smirked. "Not bad for an ex-zombie hit man, huh?"
I hated to admit it, but he was onto something.
"Besides," he added, the final blow of the hammer mid flight, "with the feds looking into you, how long do you think your little house of cards will hold up?"
I grunted. Game, set, and match.
The car pulled into the roundabout driveway of a large colonial-styled house in Coconut Grove. The columned doorway was elegant but old, and my impression was the place could use a remodel. Something odd struck me about the house. Despite the early afternoon hour, a solemn shadow fell over Simon's face as he gazed on it.
"What do you want from me, Simon?"
He opened the door of the car. "It's pure providence that Agent Bell brought you up to speed, actually." He climbed out and turned to me. "Someone in Miami's killing wizards, Cisco, and we want you to find him."
Chapter 8
Manifesto. Apparently this killer wasn't gonna get out of my life until I did something about it. The fact that I didn't object and followed him out of the car was enough tacit approval for Simon. This was, after all, a deal that greatly benefited me: Dealing with the Society on equal terms. Ridding the world of a killer, with the added bonus of clearing my name with overeager FBI agents. And, of course, there was the money. I had it, but I couldn't openly spend it. Believe it or not, as much fun as it was the first ten times, making living-room forts out of blocks of cash did eventually get old.
So it was safe to say I was on board. A win all around. After my failure to save little Gendra from the vamps this morning, this was the next best thing.
Except I still wasn't sure how the distinguished colonial manor house figured in. Did the Society know where Manifesto lived? That hypothesis was quickly dashed when Simon opened the door and the pungent stench greeted my nose.
"I get it. I'm discreet, I'm a necromancer, and you've got a dead body." Hey, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'm no dummy.
"You catch on fast, dead man," snickered Simon.
He led me down a long hall painted red. Black-and-white portraits adorned the walls, giving the impression that a distinguished family had history here. Considering the Society's interest and the Manifesto Killer's MO, whoever was murdered must've been an animist.
I frowned. "Am I gonna have free rein to inspect the evidence without the cops getting in the way?"
"There are no cops. This matter is being handled internally by the Society's best and brightest."
I stopped. "You mean you're not gonna tell them about a dead body?"
"Two dead bodies," he corrected. He glanced back and paused in annoyance when he noticed I wasn't moving anymore. He sighed. "The Society is not an official organization. These executions draw needless attention to us. If the authorities find the links between the victims, it'll illuminate us, and we're not interested in the spotlight. Now if you please."
He motioned toward an adjoining room. I cleared my throat and entered. It was a small parlor, midnight-blue, with the red velour curtains on the far wall flung open to bathe an otherwise frigid scene with warm sunlight. A middle-aged woman with dyed-black hair lay dead on the remains of a broken chair. A round table was overturned beside her, as if she had pushed it away when she'd fallen. Standing over the dead woman was a Chinese man wearing a dapper gray suit. His hair was spiked up and he had an air of confidence that was unearned by someone in his twenties.
"This guy?" I snapped. "This is the Society's best and brightest?"
Shen Santos scoffed at my entrance. "Look what the Shadow Dog dragged in. You're lucky we don't take you out right here and now."
I guffawed. He was a powerful illusionist, but it would be a cold day in hell before he got the better of me.
"There's a dead woman on the floor," said Darcy in the corner, sulking. "Her son's in the kitchen, too. So how about we put the macho posturing aside for a few minutes?"
"I'm Cuban," I said. "I can't help it." Rather than lighten the mood, my joke stuck out like a guy at a funeral on a cell phone. I shook my head, immediately reticent.
Darcy was a teenage witch with a bob of red hair, skinny jeans, and enough gummy bracelets to satisfy a classroom. She was also the most powerful telekinetic I'd ever met. She pouted a lot and hated life, which I gathered was due to her being used by the Society for whatever obligations initiates incurred. Personally, I'd kinda hoped she would've ditched this game of shadows by now, but she was her own person.
"Hey, kid," I said.
She nodded once in return.
I sighed and turned to the body. "Fine. What do you have so far?"
"You're the expert," Shen hissed. "You tell me."
"This is what I'm talking about. The Society is this big bad collection of talent, someone's picking off wizards, and you get Hugo Boss to investigate?" Before Shen said anything, I added, "Not that you don't look fly in a fitted suit, bro. I just mean there's gotta be someone better." He glared at me but didn't object.
Simon walked to the woman on the floor and pointed. "She was the better. Marie Devereaux. The Manifesto Killer murdered two random animists and two civilians and Marie was investigating for us. She was good at what she did. She expected results."
"But she was killed first."
He nodded. "A lot of our people are avoiding the state because of this creep, and you know our handle on South Florida is best described as tenuous. It's a different beast down here. Shen and Darcy are locals so I'm using them. Shen's young, but he's got an analytical mind and is willing to help. Besides, you're here too. And Margo's looking into another mercenary, but I don't have details yet. Let's just work with what we have."
I mulled it over for a minute before approaching the body with a light step to avoid scuffing blood with my alligator boots. This was a seance room, adorned with all the bells and whistles. Chakra stones, bones, beeswax candles, hanging instruments used for calming auras. I'd never heard of Marie Devereaux but there was no doubt she was a fortune teller. If she'd had insights into distant times and places, that would explain why the Society had leaned on her to find the killer. Ironic she didn't foresee Manifesto knocking on her door.
I moved to the swiveling door in Darcy's corner and peeked into the kitchen. The whi
te tile was slopped with blood where the boy had attempted to crawl to safety. He was Darcy's age. It looked like he'd been done in with a kitchen knife.
"Damn shame," said Simon. "The kid was usually in high school when this happened, but he'd taken the day off for some reason. As bad as bad luck could be."
A queasy feeling welled in my gut. It wasn't unlike nausea, except this was fueled by rage. Injustice was one thing. I'd experienced a few lifetime's worth and knew it was a fact of the world. What I really couldn't stand was seeing the downtrodden, the underdogs—the truly weak—abused by those in power. Hurting kids crossed the line.
And Manifesto was definitely in power. Executing animists, taunting police, and then slipping away free and clear.
My face soured. I had a lot of doubts about the partnership. If someone was taking out Society mages, maybe I should stay out of it. Maybe they had a leak from within and I should let them collapse. I even wondered if the Society had been responsible for turning the feds on me in the first place. And if not, getting mixed up in this investigation might do more to incriminate me than anything else.
Christ. I was a suspect in these killings and I was standing smack in the middle of a murder scene.
I growled. I didn't know if Marie Devereaux deserved what had happened to her, but that kid sure as hell didn't. In a city of corrupt politicians, dangerous practitioners, and shady business organizations like the Society, I considered myself Miami's last bastion of defense.
"Fine," I muttered. "I'll do it. We have a deal."
Darcy's eyes squeezed into a smile for the briefest of moments. Simon was more magnanimous with his pleasure. Shen scowled, of course.
"But you need to let me bring my own people into it," I quickly amended.
Simon's smile faded. "It's imperative no one knows about this. I told you that."
"I have a friend in the department. His resources are crucial—"
"The police?!?" His hands pulled at his thinning hair. "Have you listened to a word I said?"
I stepped up to him. Lightly, without aggression, but with a confident swagger that demanded full attention. He narrowed his eyes. "You brought me here," I stressed. "You asked for my help. My way, my people. That's non-negotiable."
The lightning animist swallowed back a glower. Despite all the pressure on me to do this, the Society was desperate. Anything scaring them out of Florida had to be dealt with. I had Simon by the short and curlies and he knew it.
He nodded. "Your way."
"Great." I clapped him on the shoulder and turned to the gruesome scene. "Then first thing's first. Let's get rid of all this light." I stepped around the body and yanked the heavy curtains closed. A wash of shadow surged over us.
Chapter 9
I commanded the darkness to leak into my eyes. The room snapped into sharp focus. I waited a moment to take it all in. Get a feel for the place.
Magic splattered the walls like modern art. The Intrinsics, the building blocks of all life and spellcraft, had funneled through this room more times than I could count. Like oceans that wear down mountains, the friction of magic had changed this space.
The Intrinsics didn't always leave strong signatures, but this was a seance room. An anchor in time and place where repeated rituals occurred. With that much juice, it was hard not to have some linger.
That said, the spellcraft was unfamiliar to me. A lot of formless gray smoke, with white webbing shooting this way and that into infinity. Threads of destiny, perhaps. It was clear Marie Devereaux was no charlatan.
My eyes rested on her body. Prematurely aged, I now observed. She was thinner than was healthy. Her skin sagged. What struck me most was the lack of traces of spellcraft on her body.
"She wasn't killed with magic," I said.
Simon nodded. "Manifesto hates spellcraft. He hates animists."
"He's gotta be ballsy to take them on without magic."
Shen scoffed. "Not really. The old lady didn't have much fight in her. None of his targets do."
I showed my skepticism. Shen was overly brash. Power didn't always come from raw strength. You'd think an illusionist like Shen would understand that. But that was because he lacked the wisdom to see it. The experience, too. Marie Devereaux? I doubted she was as shortsighted.
Yet she had been caught unawares this time. I knelt and turned her head to face me.
"The eyes are missing. Have we found them anywhere?"
"No," answered Shen. "That's gross."
"Well, you did invite a necromancer to the party. Without her eyes I won't be able to see the final moments of her death."
"You think that's why he took them?" he asked.
I considered the question and shook my head. "No. It wouldn't have worked anyway unless the body was fresh. Does the kid have his eyes?"
Darcy nodded solemnly.
"That's not it then. Manifesto likes to keep mementos. The first magician he killed—the Marvelous Mordane—was a performer. A card mechanic. The killer cut off his hands. He neutralized his power. It's symbolic." I turned to them. "You said a second animist was killed?"
"A piper," said Shen. "Another easy target. Nothing was missing, but the body was burnt up pretty bad."
I didn't hide my surprise. "Really?"
Simon cut in. "Marie believed Manifesto had made a mistake. He murdered the piper but left the gas stove on. Whatever'd been cooking spilled over at some point and started a fire. The whole house burned down. It didn't leave us a lot to go with."
I pressed my lips together and thought about what made a piper special. In the meantime, Simon had pulled out his phone and opened a gallery of morbid photographs. He handed it to me. Charred body. Not burned to completion but the head had gotten the worst of it. I'd seen a similar thing before. Clean skeletal teeth smiled back, as if posing.
"The lips," I concluded. "The piper's lips were removed, but the fire ruined the display." I handed the phone back. "So we know Manifesto isn't perfect."
Simon nodded in agreement. "Marie believed Manifesto never penned a letter because of the mistake. It was lucky for us, considering. With the apparently different MO, the police didn't link it to our boy."
"Don't underestimate Agent Bell. She has a good head on her shoulders, if overly suspicious." My attention returned to the body. Bruising around the neck signified choking. I plucked at Marie's skin. "She's been dead almost a day. Long gone. I'm not gonna be able to get a lot from her."
"This is a waste of time," complained Shen. He stomped to Simon. "What does this guy bring to the table? He's not gonna help us even if he knows."
Simon clenched his jaw. "He'll help."
"The guy has an ax to grind with us. Hell, if the feds think it's him, maybe it is."
I eyed him sharply but it was Darcy who spoke. "Cut the crap, Shen. It doesn't make him a murderer just 'cause he kicked your ass once or twice." I smiled.
He whirled on her, unamused. "So help me, Darcy, if you don't keep your mouth shut..."
I stood, but Darcy didn't move. She remained casually leaning in the corner like she was bored and waiting for an Uber.
"You'll what?" she asked.
Shen's eyes narrowed.
"Kids?" said Simon, annoyed. "You have two choices. Behave or go wait in the car."
I watched Shen with a smirk. He pressed his lips together and unfortunately decided to hold his ground.
Darcy stomped to the hall. "Catch you later, Cisco. I'm outta here."
Damn. And I'd been hoping to chat with her in private. It would need to wait.
"Now," continued Simon, "you think we can get back to business?"
"Yes," agreed Shen. "Tell us something we don't know, shadow charmer."
I took a breath. I really wanted to show the guy up but they were putting me in an impossible situation. I looked around the room. Noted the wooden stand and silk wrap. "Well, Marie was a fortune teller, right? So where's her—"
"Crystal ball?" cut in Shen. "Already found it. It's in the kit
chen. Manifesto used it to beat the dying boy's head in."
I grimaced. As if stabbing him wasn't enough. The killer had to finish him off as the boy was crawling away. I was about to stand up when I noticed Marie's eyelids. One of them was almost devoid of eyelashes, while the other had a healthy portion with heavy mascara. It was easy to miss with the gaping sockets below.
"The killer pulled her lashes," I reported. "I imagine eyes are difficult to send through the mail. I bet Manifesto's next letter will have hair for DNA evidence." I turned to Simon. "Do we have a note yet?"
"We have a source inside the paper. No note yet but it's expected to arrive tomorrow, which gives us a day lead time. The police might have the hair, but they don't have Marie's DNA on file. If we clean the house real good, they'll never be able to find any to make a positive match."
I raised my eyebrows. "You're talking garbage, toothbrushes, makeup, dirty silverware, combs—everything."
Simon nodded. "We'll get it done."
"Why not burn the house?"
"Too much attention. Plus that would match the MO of the piper and encourage them to link the crimes. I'd rather get egg on the killer's face. Have him send the letter and the police come out only to find nothing suspicious. We're already forging a flight history to make it look like the Devereaux family is out of town."
"You're trying to undermine the Manifesto Killer's credibility. Get under his skin."
"It's what I'm good at," he admitted with a shrug. "And the less serious the police take these letters, the easier it is for us to stay hidden."
"That will only stall them so long, you know. They'll eventually consider her dead."
Shen stepped forward. "That's why we have to find him first. Before he kills again."
"Exactly," said Simon. "The longer this goes on, the more impossible it will be to hide, the more facts and links will exist. And when the public gets wind of this, every internet investigator will be on the case. Nobody wants that."
I could imagine. When I was younger, the internet was just getting its legs under itself. Chat rooms, message boards—it was text-based. But these days we had streaming video cameras in our pockets and tracking data up to our noses. For an organization like the Society, people who thrived in keeping their power a secret, it must've been harrowing.