Death March: Black Magic Outlaw

by Domino Finn

  I got a bead on the other thug and was readying a shadow spear when the first one hopped to his feet. What the hell? My blow should've skewered him. What was supposedly fatal had only resulted in a stun.

  Had Simon been jerking me around?

  I waved my arm over the asphalt. The entire floor gummed up with shadow. The quick-on-their-feet vamps wouldn't be quite so quick anymore. I stepped backward to create some distance, but one of the thugs leapt over my spellcraft and rocketed at my head.

  I dove into the shadow myself this time. Not just the thickened goop on the ground. My body became shadow. I was pretty sure their claws couldn't strike me in this state but I didn't take chances. I easily drifted away from the blow. The big guy's knee smashed into the asphalt and left a fissure behind. I materialized and cracked him in the jaw. He slumped down face first.

  I backed further out the alley and stole Tutti's trick. Left hand up asking for a ceasefire while my right hand was obscured behind my back. The shadow drooped down from it. I layered it on thick, over and over until it glowed amethyst.

  "You keep this up," I warned, "and I'm gonna show you what happens when I get angry."

  Tutti cackled. She looked hungry. Turned on, even. "You put on a good show, mister." She licked her now-protruding fangs seductively, enjoying every minute of this cat-and-mouse. "But no one gets away from the Obsidian March."

  She dove forward. I swung my arm out from behind me, spellcraft thrumming in the form of a longsword, ready to chop her in half. Her eyes widened and she attempted to roll away. I kept the blow coming and corrected as I could, but her reflexes were better than mine. I missed her heart, missed her torso completely, but her spin maneuver had cost her. Tutti's right arm was severed at the shoulder.

  I'd expected blood, but the limb just bounced awkwardly and came to a stop. Tutti screeched in agony and tumbled away, her wound a gaping black hole. Her arm crumbled to ash.

  "You asshole!" she screamed.

  I didn't have time for an I-told-you-so. I threw my left hand out and the palm tattoo flared as the first thug recovered her pistol and took potshots at me. The small-caliber weapon split the lazy afternoon quiet and echoed off the buildings with explosive power. My energy shield deflected the bullets with little effort. Viking magic.

  The vamp on the ground got up and dragged a wounded Tutti deeper into the alley. The one with the gun covered their exit. I wasn't intent on chasing them or sticking around for round two of the county police so I backed onto the street and disappeared around the corner.

  And just like that, the fight was over. Heads turned and people pointed, but nobody seemed to agree on where to look. Without missing a beat, I twisted into a casual stroll down the sidewalk. I glanced around in confusion to really sell it.

  As I walked down the curb, I pulled the car keys from my pocket. A year ago I would've been climbing inside a haunted pickup truck with a pentagram painted on the hood, but I was a new man now. Legit, on the books, and with a lot of cash to spare.

  Somehow, the vampires must've known about my new car. After this morning's incident they had staked it out and set their trap. Lucky for me, Evan had swung me a special deal. Since I was a sometimes police consultant, he'd granted me a privilege usually reserved for officers. My license and registration were as real as they came, but if anyone ran them, the address would come back registered to the police station. Let's see the Obsidian March do something about that.

  I took a last look around to make sure no one was coming for me. They were long gone. I shook my head and wondered what Simon would say about my vampire crusade. I'd started a street war without even knowing it.

  I clicked the alarm of my 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am and sat inside. I loved this car. Restored silver body with an oversize black phoenix decal on the hood. Hood scoop, T-top, the works. I reveled in the all-silver interior and twisted the key in the ignition. The powerful V-8 responded immediately. I smiled and burned down the street, the aftermarket 4-speed answering at my slightest prompt.

  I wasn't followed.

  The Firebird wasn't luxurious like Simon's Town Car, and it definitely wasn't a quiet and smooth ride, but I preferred the immediacy of the action, the throttle of the horses, and the relationship with the road. This was a man's machine, at least if popular media in the seventies and eighties were to be believed. Sitting behind that tenth-anniversary steering wheel, I had little doubt they were on the money.

  It was still too early for rush hour so I made good time getting back to Brickell. The business strip on the Avenue was one of the areas that had evolved the most in my time away from the city. High-rise condos of glass tore through the expansive Miami sky. The street level was lined with swanky restaurants and shops.

  For me, the best thing about the area was a little more practical. My daughter, Fran, lived in a local neighborhood. Evan and Emily were her parents, but I was her biological dad. The three of us had long ago settled on the idea, but Fran didn't know the truth. I wasn't sure if she would any time soon.

  I pulled into the underground parking lot of the swankiest condo on the strip, parked in my personal space, strolled through the posh lobby, and hit the elevator button to my new home.

  Penthouse, of course.

  Chapter 12

  I stepped out into my private hall. Private not because I own it, but because my penthouse takes up the entire fifty-sixth floor. I found Kasper there working on the door.

  Seeing a guy like him in a place like this was comical, to say the least. He was an old Norwegian biker with a long white beard and tattoos over his entire body, several of the naughty variety. A healthy beer belly marred an otherwise scrawny frame. He wore his usual red-lensed glasses and had a stogie hanging from his mouth.

  "Just give me a second there, broham," he said without turning to me.

  I paused. I'd caught him in the middle of tracing the door frame with a series of scrawling lines. He had an assortment of paint brushes, pens, and buckets of inks and paints to go with them. A few empty bottles of beer sat beside them.

  Besides being an accomplished medic from the Vietnam War as well as a sought-after tattoo artist and business owner, Kasper was a scribe. For the last few months he'd been tirelessly fortifying my new digs with defensive wards. It was taking a long time, and it was expensive, but it was worth it. The longer and more layered his spellcraft, the greater the supernatural threats it would keep out. Just in time for my vampire crusade.

  Normally, a necromancer like me preferred to keep zombies around for security, either small animals for eyes or large bodies for muscle. My new condo was all-white though, and zombies don't wipe their shoes before walking on the carpet. Command them to die for you and they're gung ho, but try to instill them with manners and suddenly it's an uphill battle.

  There was another complication. Since I was a new resident, the head of the home owner's association was being especially nosy, and that was putting it nicely. I had to tread lightly for a while.

  As Kasper finished his sweep, he blew lightly over his work. The ink sparkled and faded until it was invisible.

  "There," he said, dropping the brush in water and spinning around. "It needs more love but you can go inside if you want."

  "I'm surprised you're working so late." I pounded my fist into his. "You don't need to do that."

  "Not a big deal. The peace and quiet is good for me. Besides, I felt bad about leaving the little lady inside alone."

  My brow furrowed. "Fran?" Kasper knew her as my friend's kid who I watched sometimes, but that was all.

  "That's the one. She said you were giving her lessons in spellcraft."

  I glared. "She wasn't supposed to mention that."

  "News to me," he said, chuckling. "That's okay. You know I can keep your secrets, Cisco."

  "Thanks. Her parents would kill me if they found out. You want another beer? Something to eat?"

  He pulled on his cigar. "Actually, I think I'm gonna work through this. With the overtim
e I was able to swing today, I'm practically finished."

  "For good?"

  "I'll be out of your hair before you know it."

  I shook my head wistfully. "I almost wouldn't know what to do without you around."

  He opened the door for me. Nothing exploded. "You can swing by the tattoo parlor, you know. Place is usually empty these days."

  "Will do." I moved inside.

  "Oh, and Cisco," he called, door half closed. "Don't come out without knocking first, or it's your ass."

  I laughed as he shut the door. Taken under advisement. The glyphs on his body would likely protect him, but I might not be as lucky.

  I marched to the living room. My beautiful eleven-year-old daughter sat on the couch using a tablet. My eyes ran to the TV.

  "You've got a seventy-two-inch screen twenty feet away and you're staring at that little thing?"

  "Your TV doesn't have Word Wars."

  I craned my neck around to see the game she was playing. She was so busy jumbling letters into words she barely noticed me.

  "Hello to you too," I joked.

  "Hi, Cisco. Sorry for stopping by unannounced. I know our training day is tomorrow, but some creep was bugging Nicole at the park so she wanted to head home."

  I smiled. Fran was pretty, sweet, and a pretty sweet soccer player to boot. I'd sometimes pick her up early to watch her play. I ruffled her wavy brown hair. "About that, Fran. You really shouldn't be mentioning your magical talents to strangers."

  "Kasper's not a stranger. He's cool. I like his tattoos."

  "I'm sure you—"

  "You think my mom will let me get one?"

  My face went dead. "You're way too young to get a tattoo, Fran."

  "Be chill, Cisco. It's not like you're my dad."

  I winced.

  "Besides, you have some tattoos. They're not as cool as Kasper's though."

  I rolled my eyes. My limited tattoos were for cold practicality. "Yes, dear. I don't have as many naked ladies with spiked tails." I tried to sound as sarcastic as possible but I don't think she picked up on it.

  "You have a lot of nice stuff here. I took a look around since you were gone. You've been spending money. My dad says you splurge on a lot of expensive clutter because the IRS doesn't track that stuff."

  "What?" I crossed my arms. "I don't have expensive clutter."

  "You have a leather chair in your closet."

  "It's a big closet."

  "You have a pool on your balcony."

  I blinked. "It's a small pool. Besides, that came with the condo."

  "Cisco, your bed has its own chandelier."

  I huffed in exasperation. "I like to read, Fran. You should try it sometime with something that's not backlit. That's not a crime."

  "Maybe not, but my dad says all your money is."

  "Well... I..." I scrambled. My mind darted to my new deal with the Society. "You let your dad know I'm working on that."

  I shook my head, went to the kitchen, and opened the fridge. What the hell was Evan doing telling Fran about my dirty laundry anyway? Fran was a smart kid and she wasn't blind, so seeing this place it was no wonder she had questions. It was hard to be mad at Evan and Emily too. After all, they were the ones who'd cosigned for me even though it was a stretch for their budget. Like true friends, they did what they could to re-integrate me into society.

  Still, I wasn't gonna apologize for living the high life. I'd spent a year hiding out in the Everglades in a shed that legally couldn't be classified as shelter. I deserved some comfort, dammit. And if it was at an ex-drug kingpin's expense, who was gonna complain?

  I grabbed a Coke and noticed the beer shelf in the fridge was awfully barren. I pulled a couple of six packs from the nearby cabinet and shoved them in. Then I popped my drink and downed it, savoring the glorious follow-up burp.

  "That's gross, Cisco."

  "My house," I said unapologetically.

  I strutted to the couch, sat down on an adjoining love seat beside my daughter, and fully reclined with my feet up. Not finished, I flicked a switch and felt the automated massage roll under my neck, back, and legs. How's that for expensive clutter?

  Fran rolled her eyes.

  I didn't care. This was the life. A sort of payback for my struggles. I took a sip of soda and nodded to myself. Yes. I'd earned this time out. My eyes rested for blissful, precious seconds before I heard the commotion outside the front door.

  "Son of a—" I turned to Fran and frowned. A smirk was plastered across her face. "I guess I'd better get that." I set my Coke down and went to the door.

  Chapter 13

  It was just annoyed mumbling at first, but Kasper quickly escalated into gruff barks. Someone was pissing him off. I set my hand on the doorknob and paused. Attempting to open the door mid-glyph could be disastrous.

  I checked the peephole. Damn. Reddish ink clouded the glass. I could barely make out a blurry Norwegian waving his arms around, yelling.

  I pounded. "Okay to come out?" More yelling. I banged again. "Kasper! Is it okay to open the door?"

  It clicked open. Kasper wore an annoyed look. His cigar had been plunked into the water can, still smoking. Standing before him, arms crossed and wearing the most colorful blouse I'd ever seen—colorful in this case being a euphemism—was the head of my home owner's association, Carmela Flores.

  "Mr. Suarez," she started, voice haughty and indignant, "I've repeatedly notified you of the interior decoration policy in the building. We can't have strange men painting up the walls. It's unbecoming."

  "Strange men?" exclaimed Kasper. "I fought my heart out for this country and I won't have old bags like you telling me where I can and can't work."

  Her lips jutted out unseemingly, matching her stark nose.

  I massaged my temples. "Kasper, why don't you take a break inside, buddy?"

  He grumbled and stormed past me. I waited for the tension to ease but Carmela was pretty wound up.

  She always was. If she could somehow manage to relax, to—dare I say it—smile, she would appear much as any grandmother in her fifties. Graying hair with a disturbing amount of pink dye, stern but slight, with numerous flowers on her dress that were alien to this world. For whatever reason she marched around the building as if she was the only one in it who had any sense. It was a power trip, nothing more, nothing less, and I was getting sick of tiptoeing around it.

  "No one's painting the walls," I said calmly.

  "Don't lie to me, Mr. Suarez." She pointed at the door. "It's plainly evident—" She froze, eyes going wide.

  I craned my head around the door to see what she was pointing at. Kasper's inks had dried and disappeared. "You were saying, Carmela?"

  "But he was painting..."

  I went for an understanding smile. "I can see how you would have that impression, but Kasper's not painting the walls. He's treating them for mold."

  She snapped up straight. "Mold?"

  "Yes." I nodded slyly. "I'm very sensitive. And Kasper's the best contractor in Miami. He needs to chemically treat all surface areas for traces of... mold. But it won't leave a mark behind."

  "Well, you know I should be notified of any—"

  I leaned forward conspiratorially. "Carmela, if I came to you in an official capacity, you'd have an obligation to check for mold on every floor of the building. I'm trying to take care of a problem before it becomes a problem. Know what I mean?" I winked.

  She swallowed. "Well, yes, of course. Thank you for that. And it certainly doesn't appear that the walls are marked."

  She leaned around me and poked her nose in my place. I stepped out, closed the door, and put my arm around her, gently nudging her back to the elevator.

  "You do understand, Mr. Suarez, that even licensed contractors are not allowed to smoke in public spaces in this building."

  I pushed the elevator call button. It opened immediately.

  "The smoke is part of the test," I explained as she walked in. She gave a knowing nod. I pushe
d the button for the ground level and casually stepped back into the hall. "It chemically reacts with the... chemical surfactants to... hybridize the mold deposits. It's all very complicated."

  She mulled it over for a second before her eyes narrowed. "Just a second, Mr. Suarez—are you bullshitting me?"

  I masked the alarm on my face as the double doors shut between us. I thought I heard Carmela release a string of profanities to the empty elevator, but she was already on her way down. I just hoped she would think better about coming back today. I returned inside.

  "Can you believe it?" complained Kasper. "We've been dodging her for months, and she catches me in the final minute of work." He shook his head. "I got overeager."

  "Don't sweat it, Kasper. I took care of it." I paused. "So that's it? You're completely finished?"

  "It's a done deal, broham. And little Ms. No Smoking had to rain on my parade." He scratched his wild beard. "It's too bad, too. I kinda like the way she walks. Has a nice sway to her hips."

  Fran giggled. The old man winked at her and sat in my massage chair. He turned it on with a long groan. I sighed in disappointment and sat on the couch.

  "By the way, Kasper," I said in an icy tone, "don't worry about getting my massage chair all dirty and sweaty."

  The vibration of the chair made his voice come out choppy. "Didn't even cross my mind."

  I sighed again.

  Fran turned sideways on the couch and kicked my shoulder with her bare foot. "Hey, grumpy pants, what was so important about today?"

  Whatever slight annoyance I'd felt disintegrated at the brightness of her face. "Huh?"

  "I was hoping for a lesson earlier but you weren't around."

  "Oh, that."

  I didn't want to tell her about the bar. The missing girl from her school would never be found. The vampires were too good for that, and whether the people they took lived or died, their mysteries had less chance of being solved if they never resurfaced.