by Domino Finn
"But you just said—"
"There's something wrong with him. You heard Marie Devereaux. He's forced to kill."
"So he doesn't die himself."
"No," I said. "It's just the opposite. He wants to die." They looked at me uncertainly, but for the first time everything was clicking into place. "Agent Bell thought Manifesto was claiming to be invincible, to be a dead man like me, because he initially wrote that he would never die. Except he wasn't talking about this life, he was talking about the next."
Evan gritted his teeth. "You're saying he wants to be caught. To be killed."
"Whenever his trials are over, anyway. He said death was the true test. Manifesto hopes to be rewarded for his actions. He's continuing this string of killings as long as necessary. Until it kills him. This is his final death march."
Emily nodded. "The afterlife fits with the trappings of a holy mission. All his talk of angels and being chosen."
Evan traded glances with us. "Do I need to point out the obvious? This guy's obviously not on a holy mission."
"I know. I know." I put my hand up, trying not to get distracted from the vision we'd witnessed. Manifesto's eyes were seared into my brain. I now understood why Marie's son had run from the terrifying sight. But there was more. Black tears. The anguish. "I think he's cursed."
Emily pressed her lips together. "He was certainly suffering. His voice was strained. Maybe he's been dealing with this for a while and killing is the only way to alleviate his agony."
We didn't really know what to say to that. But it did track in a twisted sort of way.
"He mentioned a flower maker..." I massaged my eyes. "See not. Show not. Those were the last two clues. Marie was the fortune teller; she saw things. I was pretty sure Quentin Capshaw was the one who showed things but..."
I marched to the door. Fran sprinted past me into the room to find out what the commotion was about.
"Shen's an illusionist," I realized. "Spellcraft that shows. Yesterday he spawned a flower in his hand to display his power. If Manifesto knew about Marie, he knows about him. These murders aren't random."
I stomped down the stairs and picked my phone from my pocket. Interestingly, I had another missed call from Shen. I dialed him and went straight to voice mail. "Damn it, Shen, call me back," I barked.
Evan followed me outside. "What's the plan?"
"I'm touching base with the Society. You can't come. They don't want people to know about them, especially the authorities."
"You think they're in danger?"
I opened my car door and sat. "I don't know, but if anybody can handle it, it's them."
Evan clapped my shoulder through the open T-top. "Watch your back."
"You too."
On the way, I called Shen again. When he didn't pick up I tried Simon, who actually answered.
"The wonder boy checks in," he said magnanimously.
"Are you absolutely, positively sure Manifesto can't be someone in the Society?"
"You're still on this? It wouldn't make sense, Cisco. And Shen doesn't have anything to gain."
"Not him. Has he pissed anyone off? Did Marie?"
"I mean, Marie was outspoken. Shen can be a braggart but he's too low on the food chain to seriously piss anybody off." Simon cleared his throat. "So let me get this straight. First you think Shen's a suspect, now you think he's a target?"
"I'm not sure what to think. Where's Shen now?"
"I talked to him earlier. I figured you guys were meeting at the laundromat."
"Good. I'm already on the way."
"I'll call Darcy," he added. "Round up the troops, and all that. I'm a little ways out but I'll be there."
"Make sure you are." I ended the call.
I was starting to have doubts. I wasn't sure it was smart to pull Darcy off Quentin. At the same time, getting the whole band together was just what the doctor ordered. If we were organized and had a plan, Manifesto wouldn't be able to come at us. Better yet, I was starting to formulate a plan to dangle a little chub for the killer. If he wanted Shen so badly, maybe we could give him the perfect opportunity.
I pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall and spotted the illusionist getting out of his black Mercedes. Luck was on our side. I honked several times to get his attention. He'd recognize the Firebird anywhere. I parked diagonally over two spots in front of the laundromat and hopped out to intercept him.
"That's a dick move," said Shen. "They're both fifteen-minute parking spots."
"We don't want anybody dropping off their Sunday dresses. Why didn't you pick up your phone?"
"Why didn't you?"
I hissed at his juvenile antics. "You might be a target."
"Yeah, I just got off the phone with Simon. He said you thought I was in danger."
"Could be. I saw Manifesto in the crystal ball. He was a normal-looking guy wearing a Dolphins hoodie. He all but said he was going after a flower maker next."
He paused thoughtfully. "He said that?"
"It makes sense after Devereaux. See not, show not. You're an illusionist. It makes sense."
"It doesn't make any sense. Devereaux was a performer. Quentin's a performer. Manifesto is going after animists in the limelight."
I threw my hands up. "Maybe that's how it started. I don't know. He knew about and killed Marie's kid just the same. He wasn't a performer. I just don't think his choice of victim is entirely random."
"You're overthinking this, Cisco. I admit I was wrong about you, but you're overthinking it." He flashed a CD case in his hand.
"What's that?"
"Security footage from the burger joint. You remember boots on the ground and knocking on doors, don't you? The theft of Quentin's briefcase was captured on camera. The hypnotist went to the bathroom and a middle-aged man slipped by and snatched it as if planned. He was wearing a gray Dolphins hoodie."
My words caught in my throat. That was him.
"You want me to say it?" asked Shen. "Fine. Your hunch was right, and I was wrong. You have a good eye for this stuff. Come inside. I'll show you the video."
I was... stunned. Not that I'd been right with my previous leap of faith. It was a gamble but a sensible one. It was just that I'd felt so sure about things a few seconds ago. Manifesto's circular eyes flashed through my brain. I tried to shake them away. Had seeing the vision screwed with my judgment?
The lone chime introduced us as we entered the dry cleaner. Half the overhead lights were off. It was quiet.
"That's strange," noted Shen. "Someone should be at the counter by now." He moved towards the back. I gripped his shoulder to stop him.
"I'm telling you, Shen. We need to be careful."
He swallowed and scanned the lifeless room. It was a snapshot of how it appeared every day, except it now lacked the vitality that made a room warm. The cleaner seemed closed for business, but the open sign was still on display and the door wasn't locked.
Shen turned to me and dipped his head in acknowledgment. His entire body flickered. I released him and stepped back. He was still there, unchanged. That was strange. He set the CD case on the counter and crept toward the back room. I drew my shotgun and followed, blinking unsteadily.
"Diana?" he called. "Baby?
No answer.
Shen took a breath and entered the back room. A flurry of motion exploded faster than I could react.
Chapter 30
Shen spun to the side, alert to a threat. Someone barreled into him, pinning him to the wall with what could only be called a sword. They struggled in a disorienting fashion. Both attacker and defender seemed confused. They twisted around each other awkwardly. I pointed my shotgun but they were too entwined to risk it.
I charged through the narrow doorway. The man's attention snapped to me, off guard. It was him. Manifesto. He slashed in a defensive arc and retreated deeper into the room.
I burst through but suddenly tripped for no apparent reason. The weapon lurched from my hands. I tumbled to the floor. For
a second I thought I'd run into Shen, but he was drooping against the wall where he'd been impaled. A line of thick blood traced down to his slumped form on the floor.
Manifesto, still holding the sword, went for my shotgun. Shadow lashed out and knocked it away. The gun slid to the back wall. I hopped to my feet and he stuttered in place, hesitating just long enough for me to square off with him.
And when we did, I have to admit I was a little disappointed. The Manifesto Killer was just a normal guy. A little past his prime, a little extra cushioning around the belly, and slightly balding. Even his gray football hoodie was so unimpressively... regular.
Of course, his inhuman eyes ruined any sense of normality. Large round pupils dominated his visage. They were fixed in place, forcing Manifesto to snap his head around like a bird to appraise me.
"You're one of them," he said knowingly.
I risked a glance at Shen. He wasn't breathing anymore. Diana lay in a pool of blood, half obscured by the counter. Manifesto had laid his trap and I hadn't stopped him in time. I was damn sure gonna stop him now.
"That's right," I fumed. "I'm one of them."
"Then it's my holy duty to remit you from this world."
I chortled. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I think you're punching a little out of your weight class."
I thrust my hand forward. A javelin of shadow exploded from the wall. Manifesto's head twitched to the side in surprise. He was many things, but he wasn't a physically gifted opponent. The slow man had no hope of dodging the strike.
Instead, the spear simply passed through him without effect.
"What the?"
His laugh was full of scorn. "I've been tasked with hunting magicians. Spellcraft doesn't work against me. I'm fearless in the face of your power."
My eyes widened as he came in with a downward sword swipe. I raised my armored forearm to meet the blow. It struck with a flash of turquoise. Manifesto recoiled, nearly losing his grip on the weapon.
"What's this?" he spat.
My tattoo pulsed strangely, my arm stung, but the armor had held. Maybe it was because the rune was defensive, or maybe it was due to being grounded in physical place by ink. Either way, Manifesto had failed to counter it. By his quivering face, it might've been the first time he'd seen such resilience.
He pulled a pistol from the small of his back. I slipped into the darkness as he unloaded on me. The first few shots were wild. After two more, he realized the bullets were unable to find me. Instead of panicking, he let off a few controlled shots and walked to the door. His pistol turned to Shen's head and blew a hole in the side of it. He fired at me again to keep me pinned. Then he ran from the room.
I sprinted to the doorway. The second I poked my head out, Manifesto fired. I pulled back and stood there, staring at Shen's dead body. I turned to get a better angle on Diana and confirmed she wasn't moving. The chime at the front door went off and I seethed.
"What am I doing? I can take a bullet or two."
My skin had been enchanted with zombification toxins that made me somewhat bulletproof, at least to small civilian rounds. I was never totally confident in its ability, since the physics and dynamics of such things were a total crapshoot in real situations, now being a prime example. But I was angry enough that my apprehensions didn't matter. I was willing to get hurt if it meant putting this animal down.
I burst into the front room and chased the killer outside. A motorcycle roared to life and sped down the lot. He wasn't wearing a helmet or jacket now, but it was the same blue motorcycle I'd seen in traffic behind us. The rider who'd freaked out when I walked right by him holding a shotgun. The motherfucker had been following us the whole time.
I charged. He was too fast. He sped off and skipped into the street. I spun to the Firebird and deflated as I reached the driver's door. Manifesto's sword was impaled in the front tire.
"Shit!" I screamed, kicking the wheel.
Strangely, I heard the motorcycle return. I ran toward it before noticing it was red. Darcy. I flagged her down and we converged.
"That was Manifesto! On the bike!"
She was stunned for a moment as she processed my words.
"He got Shen," I said.
Her face tightened. Darcy revved her bike and gazed down the street. I wondered if it was already too late to catch up, but she was determined.
"All right," I said, approaching the bike to mount up behind her.
She accelerated into a spin and kicked me out of the way before bursting out of the lot on her own.
"Dolphins hoodie," I yelled. The sports affiliation wasn't a big help in Miami, but the hoodie wouldn't be a popular choice in the heat. I ran to the street and watched her, mad that I hadn't warned her about his magic resistance.
"Damn bratty punk," I muttered. "Thinks she can take on the whole world by herself." It took a full three seconds to realize people often accused me of the same thing. Hi, Cisco, my name's Karma, and I'm a raging cunt.
After idling there another minute, I felt about as useless as I could. I wasn't sprinting anywhere in cowboy boots and my car was out of commission. My eyes trailed to Shen's Mercedes. I could get his keys from inside, but there was no way I'd be able to track Manifesto by then.
Fuck. The visceral back-room scene crammed into my head and wouldn't get out. I'd thought Shen had a chance there before that final bullet to his brain. At least I'd saved him the dignity of having Manifesto take a piece of him as a souvenir.
To make matters worse, the logistical hot mess of the situation started to dawn on me. Call me an asshole but there was a giant crime scene to consider. I figured it wasn't my problem and I would stay out of it, but my shotgun was still in there and boy wouldn't Special Agent Bell just love to find it at a Manifesto murder.
I hissed, scoped down the street one last time in case the killer was dumb enough to circle back, and made my way inside the dry cleaner. As the adrenaline started to wear off, my worry for Darcy inversely increased. Then I wondered if there was a tiny chance Diana was still alive. I stepped to the back room and grimaced at the pathetic sight of Shen crumpled against the wall. My eyes dragged over to Diana's body. She was half sitting up.
"What the hell?" I said, jumping like a kid at a horror movie.
Suddenly, Shen's body at my feet flickered and faded away. The blood too. It just disappeared.
The illusionist reappeared, propping up Diana's body. She wasn't sitting up—he was holding her.
Anger flooded me. "You played dead?"
He sat there sobbing, Diana in his arms. "Did you get him?"
I recalled seeing the awkward melee as the killer struggled with Shen's illusion. Tripping over something—someone—that wasn't there. "Did I get him? What about you?"
"He surprised me. I let him think he got the drop on me, all right? My priority was to get to Diana."
I stomped toward him. "You could've given me a bit of help! He was distracted by me!" I passed him and scooped up my shotgun. "You could've picked this up and shot him in the back instead of leaving me on an island!" My rage was boiling over at his display of cowardice.
In the face of my anger, Shen attempted to pull himself together. He went to wipe his face but regarded the blood on his hands. He set Diana down and wiped with his shoulder instead. That was when I noticed Manifesto had tagged him. Shen's button-up was slashed across his side. His entrance into the back room under the guise of an illusion was clever, but there hadn't been ample space to hide in. Manifesto had gotten lucky with a wild swing.
Then I realized I was screaming at a wounded man with a dead girlfriend. He'd ignored the battle and turtled, but maybe it had broken him.
"I need to wash this off," he said, rising and heading to the bathroom.
I shook my head. This was a mess. At least Shen was alive. I dropped my shotgun into the safety of the shadows and called Simon. I reported the news in detached precision and hung up before he could gather a response. I didn't want to hear it.
Chapter 31
I studied Diana's body. She might've been dead for an hour, with Manifesto lying in wait for Shen. Then again, her body hadn't been stripped or butchered past the stab wounds. I considered invoking spellcraft to see Diana's last moments of life or speak with her. In the end I didn't think it would help, and I didn't want to do that to Shen. I'd already seen Manifesto face to face.
Shen returned from the bathroom, shirtless but still wearing a tie. His chest and stomach were well-muscled. I would've made a Chippendale's joke but even I knew it was poor taste. Shen held his bloody shirt to the wound at his side.
"I got something for that," I offered, digging into my belt pouch.
"I don't want that toxic crap," he said. "It's not too bad."
I shrugged. He seemed to be pulling himself together pretty well. Night and day, actually. "I've got a spare shirt in my car."
"Yeah."
We emerged into a day so bright it made our moods all the more stark, like shadows. For some reason I thought of that scene from Reservoir Dogs when Mr. Black, after spending so much time in a dingy safe house, casually strolls outside to his car to get a can of gasoline. We were outside in broad daylight in clear view of maybe a hundred people, and not a soul was privy to what had happened indoors. To what was thirty feet away. I couldn't shake it.
I opened the trunk and grabbed one of a few spare tank tops. Ruined clothes were a job hazard and I had a look to maintain. Under present circumstances, I didn't mind letting Shen borrow that look. I tossed him the shirt and he gingerly stretched it over his head and his makeshift bandage.
I shut the trunk and looked through the rear windshield right to the dash. It hit me, right there.
"The dash cam," I said, rounding my car and wondering if I had a day's worth of data.
Shen came around and eyed the sword in my tire.
"Manifesto escaped on a motorcycle. He was the same rider behind us when I caught the vamps tailing us."
He scrunched his face as he considered the ramifications. "So?"
"So I must've freaked him out. He thinks he's just a normal guy following me and I get out of the car with a shotgun. He practically craps his pants and drops his bike. Then he sees I was scoping somebody else, but still wants nothing to do with me. He's still hiding, right? He tells me off and speeds away, right past my car." I tapped the video recorder. "Right past my dash cam. We could get his license. His address."