Death March: Black Magic Outlaw

by Domino Finn

  "Leave us," he said to her while appraising me.

  She nodded her head, patted my chest seductively, and disappeared somewhere into the back.

  "You played me," I said.

  His eyes flared. "I did nothing of the sort."

  "Did you tell Magnus where I was?"

  He chuckled and shook his head ponderously. "I thought you were smarter than this, Cisco. I didn't tell Magnus—he already knew."

  "How?" I demanded. "I wasn't followed. I'm sure of it."

  Leverett Beaumont motioned for me to sit. When I didn't, he gave a lackluster shrug. "The Obsidian March was working with the Manifesto Killer." He noted my shock. "I knew Magnus hadn't figured on taking out that tattoo parlor by himself."

  "Manifesto and Magnus were in communication?"

  "It would appear so. When your people brought Tutti to me, I quickly broke her. She isn't very high in the Obsidian March ranks, but as Magnus' personal pet she overheard a few things. She knew Manifesto was setting a trap for you at the construction site. Magnus was giving him room but planned on moving in afterward if necessary."

  "Why would the combined vampire clans wait on one human to make his mark?"

  "Unfortunately, we can't ask them because they're both dead."

  I hooked hands on my hips. "You were the one that told my friends where I was. You saved my life."

  He nodded without fanfare.

  "And Tutti's in your pocket, safe and secure and wrapped in a bow."

  His eyebrow arched at my emphasis.

  "That's what Magnus said. You had her safe and secure and wrapped in a bow. You told him about just enough of our arrangement that you'd look clean in case he succeeded in taking me out. You were playing both sides."

  His lips curled into a devilish grin. "The best lies are truthful actions with false intent. Of course I told Magnus about your visit. It made him feel in charge."

  "And covered your ass if I failed."

  "That too. Would you expect anything else? Is investing against annihilation such a poor strategy that it would sour our partnership?" My demeanor said yes. "Don't overthink it. It worked, didn't it?"

  "Sure, but my secret's out. There's not enough physical evidence for now, but the heat will only amp up from here."

  "An unfortunate turn of events for an ally."

  I grumbled the word. "Ally."

  "You held up your end wonderfully. The press coverage will be a hindrance, but it will only add to your rising infamy. I'll leverage my influence to sway the Obsidian March from war. After their casualties and near exposure, whoever fill the shoes Magnus left will be more conservative."

  "And Tutti, she's your agent now? A mole?"

  He licked his lips. "Girls like that are attracted to strength. I just proved to be the bigger dog. She'll do what I say from here on out."

  I frowned. The Frenchman had it all figured out. "Can you trust her?"

  He swigged the last of his drink. "I don't trust anybody."

  "Right."

  Chapter 51

  Milena and I ended up having that brunch, only it wasn't so fancy. Pancakes, bacon, and the best hash browns in the city. Milena got zucchini shreds, claiming they were healthier. They tasted just as fried to me.

  We picked things up right where we left off the night before, without any hesitation or regrets. It was fun to think about the future for once. I think she was even more excited about the coffee shop than I was.

  While we enjoyed a relaxing weekend, the public dove headfirst into the Manifesto craze. As incriminating as the video was, it kind of worked in our favor. The spectacle stole focus away from the gun battle. The grotesque allure of a deranged killer combined with mystical sights—it was a sensation. Most accepted that a street gang had slipped away before the police arrived. Sure, that fudged the timeline a bit, but who was keeping track? With zero fatalities resulting from the shootout, those details were buried in the frenzy.

  The Firebird got her tire replaced. Somehow there wasn't a scratch on her. I happily drove around Miami without serial killers or mysterious black vans in tow.

  We didn't let that fact lull us into complacency, though.

  A few days later, when everyone else was scurrying around the city dealing with rush-hour traffic, a few of us worked in my cookhouse on the edge of the Everglades. It was hot and humid as the sun began to fall, but that's why they call it hard work.

  "Again," I instructed.

  Darcy and Fran squared off in the dilapidated boathouse. They were ten feet from each other. My daughter took a few steps toward the telekinetic before encountering resistance. Fran twisted in place, looking like her arm was caught in an invisible fence. She took a measured breath, set her jaw, and pulled free.

  Fran was growing cooler under pressure. Emily wore a proud smile as she watched from the background.

  Darcy flicked the statuette of Hecate in alarm as Fran nonchalantly strolled up to her and tagged her arm.

  "Gotcha."

  I stifled easy laughter. "Just remember that this isn't a playground game in the real world." I set my boot to start forward before realizing I was stuck in place.

  "What are you laughing at?" needled Darcy.

  I tugged at her spellcraft. My torso was fixed in position, causing me to moonwalk in place. "Now, now, Darcy. There's no reason to take it personal."

  "It's not fair," she said. "Magic just doesn't work on her."

  "That's her thing."

  Hecate taunted me in her grip. "That doesn't give you a right to laugh. It's not like you can do anything about it."

  I watched her plainly a moment, considering my expression and patience fair warning. The chip on Darcy's shoulder had grown over the weekend. Whether it was about me getting with Milena or her difficulties against Fran, she was in a more grumbly mood than usual. After she refused to release me, I shrugged and tweaked the shadow.

  A tentacle lashed out and struck her hand. Hecate flew from her fingers and toward the corrugated ceiling. The spellcraft ensnaring me evaporated.

  "My fetish!"

  I stepped forward and casually caught the wood statue. I considered the teenager with a smug grin. "Don't suppose you can do a whole lot without this, can you?"

  Darcy blinked and looked away. Fran and Emily quietly watched us.

  "You're strong for your age," I continued, "but your youth is still a crutch. You lack depth of experience. It makes you rigid, unable to compensate for unpredictable outcomes. Half of what I do is dealing with bad breaks." I handed the statue back to her. "A missing fetish, for example."

  Darcy snatched it away in a huff. "Always a teaching moment with you."

  "That too. That attitude. You're so used to full control that when it wavers you lose confidence. It gets you off your game and your powers falter. That's why Fran's getting to you so easily. Even though you have the experience edge, you're panicking. If you wanna have a long career in this city, you need to work on your focus."

  She swallowed, trained mollified eyes on me, and nodded.

  The metal door creaked open and Evan Cross walked in. I was surprised to see him at the cookhouse, much less holding bags of hot dogs and buns. He kissed his wife and set the food down beside the grill. "This is the one you don't cook animal bones on, right?"

  I chuckled and grabbed the bag of charcoal. "Only pork chops and ribs. How's news?"

  "Eh, the mayor's all over my ass about Shadow Man. I was expecting a suspension for failing to contain the shootout with the resources that were out there, but so far the shoe hasn't dropped." He nodded to Fran and Darcy chatting. "How's this going?"

  I scratched my neck and gambled. "I could show you, if you want."

  He flexed his jaw. "Sure. After we get this fire started." He noted my bewilderment and shrugged. "This supernatural stuff isn't going away, is it?"

  I shook my head.

  "And the Obsidian March and worse things are still out there, right?"

  This time I nodded.

&n
bsp; "Then I figure the only thing to do is take it head on. I want my family to be able to defend themselves. And not just them, but the DROP team as well. My guys have repeatedly seen what's really out there. It's about time they had the tools to do something about it."

  "Well, all right." We pounded fists. I hadn't even thought of arming the police for this fight. The idea opened up countless possibilities.

  We laughed and talked smack around the grill. Practiced some more. I wished Milena could've been there but she was at work. Kasper was taking time off, crashing at my place. He was in his sixties so he deserved it. The old man was clearly torn up about the shop. He didn't blather on about it or make me feel guilty, though. He was good like that.

  I appraised the crew with a good feeling about things for the first time in a long while. Charred hot dogs, mustard stains on paper napkins, and the collected implements of our spellcraft. I just hoped we knew what we were doing.

  By the evening, everybody had taken off and I was alone tidying up the place. I packed the mementos from my shelf to transfer to the cache back home and locked up. On the hike back to my car on the gloomy Everglades path, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  "Brujo," came the voice of the Spaniard.

  I turned to see the wraith hovering beside me. His white skull glistened in contrast to his scratched and dull conquistador armor. Black rips of cloth swayed around his desiccated body. He watched me intently with glowing red eyes.

  Face to face while he was no longer bound to the Horn, it almost made me tremble. His visage was ghastly, his might palpable.

  "I was waiting for you to show your face," I said. "In a manner of speaking—no offense."

  The skeletal features remained emotionless. The wraith was a formidable necromancer, much more powerful than I, but he was also a distant relative. I handed him a single black feather.

  "Netherlings," he spat in a heavy Spanish accent. "Vile beasts."

  "This came from an owl of some sort."

  He cocked his head with a penetrating stare. "Owls are symbols of death in many cultures."

  I snorted. "Look who's talking. You know what it is?"

  "Does it matter?"

  I took the feather back and trudged to the Firebird. "I suppose not." I unloaded the items in the trunk before recovering a single metallic birthday balloon. It was so underinflated I'd been able to ball it up and stuff it into my empty belt pouch the night I handled Manifesto's corpse. "I'm gonna need your help with this." The Spaniard eyed me with distaste before I undid the lock and headed back inside.

  He made his way in, as I knew he would. The wraith had wandered Miami idly over the course of the year. There was no telling what he'd been up to. After five hundred years being bound to an artifact, a person can only go so long being alone. Maybe this was his fork in the road.

  I set the scene by drawing a chalk star on the cement. It was fortified with lit candles at each point. In the center was a sixth candle, melted wax fixing it upright on a small mirror. I pricked my finger with my ceremonial bronze voodoo knife. As my blood dripped onto the reflective surface, I brought the balloon over the circle and stabbed it open.

  A wave of crimson washed over the cookhouse. In the eerie bath of bloody light, we were no longer alone. A formless wisp of gray curled within the pentacle. I had been too late. Gotten too little of what I needed.

  The wraith pointed rotting fingers and whispered to the darkness. The hapless ghost within solidified in answer. Manifesto loomed before us, neck and wrist still pumping out his life force.

  "Am I saved?" he asked precariously, gaze desperately darting from wall to wall. He was no longer burdened with cursed eyes. "Is this Heaven?"

  "Far from it," I spat. "You haven't even left yet. And I got bad news for you: You were right about life being eternal, but you probably won't like where you're going."

  His brow furrowed. His eyes squinted as if having trouble focusing on me. "Who is that? My nemesis? This isn't possible."

  "Oh, it's possible all right. You and I didn't finish our last conversation. You want out of here? You wanna see what awaits you in the beyond? All you have to do is tell me who cursed you."

  The Spaniard's skeletal face hardened at my threat. Hundreds of years had taught him the evils of subjugation. I'd had my share as well. I wouldn't carry through with an act so merciless, not even for Manifesto, but he didn't know that."

  "Please," he protested. "This isn't right."

  "How long were you working with the vampires?"

  Confusion painted his face. The man whimpered as he set eyes upon my companion. "Are you an angel or a demon?"

  The wraith's glowing orbs flickered uncertainly.

  "I did as I was tasked. Your black sisters stole me away in the night. They stripped my clothes, washed away my sins with blood, and delighted me with pleasures of the flesh until I was reborn. Their songs opened my eyes. I did everything they wanted."

  "Who were they?" I pressured. "Where are they?"

  Manifesto regarded me, and an almost-exalted patience overtook him. "They are supreme beauty, heathen. Angels well beyond your understanding or reach."

  I gritted my teeth. "Try me."

  The spirit chuckled lightly. "You will not find them, but they will find you. This I promise. All men must face judgment." His laugh grew more boisterous. I sneered as a cold breeze blew over the ritual. The candles flickered. A few went out. Manifesto choked on his mirth and spun in panic. "What? Who?"

  I backed away as the remaining candles circling the star went out. Only the central fire remained. The wraith's red eyes flared indignantly at the intrusion.

  "No!" pleaded Manifesto, jerking in pain. "I was promised salvation."

  I channeled more energy into the blood rite. The circle didn't respond.

  Manifesto flailed and thrashed in greater agony than he'd ever experienced. With one last appeal, he cried, "I am the chosen one!"

  In a deathly scream, his ghost withered into nothing. A final buffet of wind hit us like a hurricane. The last candle snuffed out, releasing him. The crimson aura winked away and we were left in smoking darkness.

  I stared at the spot Manifesto had occupied. He was long gone now. So was whatever had interfered with my ritual. I turned to the Spaniard. His red eyes smoldered.

  "That was no vampire magic," he spat.

  I shook my head in agreement. "The owl is the key. We need to track down its origin. Find out who or what got its hooks into this guy."

  "The Nether will be the death of this world," muttered the Spaniard in disgust.

  I ground my teeth into a snarl. "Not if I can help it."

  -Finn

  If you're reading this, it means you demand more from your urban fantasy. Bullets and fireballs are a riot, but they're nothing without a layered cast of characters or realistic plot drivers. Black Magic Outlaw is my stab at a cut above the rest: non-stop action, true friends banding against impossible odds, and themes that hopefully make you put the book down and ponder, even if for only a minute.

  My writing process demands quality control at every step of development. I hope you agree that Black Magic Outlaw is the premium product I strive to make it. Unfortunately, doubling down on originality and quality in an on-demand world has drawbacks. It's simply impossible for me to get you a brand-new novel every month or two. The process takes time.

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  -Domino Finn

  Welcome to the exciting world of Black Magic Outlaw. If you're new here, boy are you in for a treat.

  Death March was written as an entry point into the series, a sort of reboot. That said, if this was your first book, you've got a slew of others to devour that explore Cisco's origin story. Lucky you.

  Look up Black Magic Outlaw on Amazon and buckle in for a thrilling ride.

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  Also by Domino Finn

  BLACK MAGIC OUTLAW

  Dead Man

  Shadow Play

  Heart Strings

  Powder Trade

  Fire Water

  Death March

  AFTERLIFE ONLINE

  Reboot

  Black Hat

  SHADE CITY

  SYCAMORE MOON

  The Seventh Sons

  The Blood of Brothers

  The Green Children

  About the Author

  Domino Finn is an award-winning game industry veteran, a media rebel, and a grizzled author of urban fantasy and litRPG. His stories are equal parts spit, beer, and blood, and are notable for treating weighty issues with a supernatural veneer. If Domino has one rallying cry for the world, it's that fantasy is serious business.

  Take a stand at DominoFinn.com