Fire Water (Black Magic Outlaw Book 5)

by Domino Finn

  I frowned. "So Connor's scouring South America for a gold depot?"

  "Could be. He has obvious business interests on the continent and the Society's eyes don't see in those shadows. But Connor's recent behavior suggests he's looking for a coastal settlement or even an island."

  "An island." I stepped around the sofa and sat down. "I have an idea. You wanna find a golden island? Check Google Maps."

  He shrugged. I didn't know what was stranger. That I was talking to a guy who probably hadn't shampooed his hair since Woodstock or what he believed Connor was up to. The ghost of the Spanish conquistador had certainly never mentioned a city of gold to me before. Then again, I'd never asked.

  "Okay," I contended. "Say I buy this city-of-gold business, just for the sake of argument. What's the problem? Connor's your associate. Why not help him out? Share the wealth."

  His brow furrowed. "Connor's gone dark. He's skipping the usual appointments. He's all but abandoned his private island. For the past two months he's been leading his Agua Fuego cartel from his new submarine." He paused and looked inward with a chuckle. "Huh, an ifrit in a submarine. Fire Water. I never thought about that before." He shook the thought away. "Anyway, combined with his newfound lore in pre-conquest history, Connor's becoming worrisome."

  I finally got it. "He's cutting you out."

  My host cocked his head. "He's also flooding Miami with an army of death animists. And going for your head."

  "So you want me to do your dirty work for you."

  He let out a long sigh, then stood up from his lounger and joined me on the couch. "That's one way to put it, but it ignores the bigger picture. Look, man, the Society can't officially break the alliance with Connor. Not until it's too late. And if I openly move against him, Margo will have me killed. I'm powerful, but I don't have the resources to survive in the shadows like you do."

  I smiled at the penthouse. "Got used to the glamour, did you?" In truth, I'd gotten used to it over the last two months as well. "I don't even know your name."

  "G. R. Winthrop," he said, offering his hand. After a second he realized his fingers were orange and withdrew them. "Better not."

  I shook my head. Winthrop was just about the last name I would've pegged on the old man. Winthrop sounded like old money. This dude looked like peace and free love. But appearances were deceiving, especially with animists.

  I twisted my lips and looked over my shoulder. "And the kid?"

  "Darcy's one of the good ones. She has a conscience hidden beneath that spunky shell. I think you know that or you wouldn't have stepped into my van."

  He watched me expectantly. When I still didn't budge, he said, "Bottom line is, you're going after Connor anyway. Unless you wanna be chargrilled every other week, you need to get him more than I do. But his ability to blink keeps him one step ahead. You're not gonna catch him with a butterfly net."

  "And you know where to find him?"

  "Something like that," he said. "But I was inspired by your recent strategy to go after the cartel. Don't attack the jinn, attack his interests. Keep playing Marco Polo until you collide."

  I hissed. "If I start hitting the Agua Fuego cartel again, it could be months before he responds. I don't have a better line on him anymore."

  He smiled. "And that, my man, is why you need me. The drugs are old news. His lieutenants are running that end for him now. To go where he'll be, you need to focus on his latest pursuit."

  I squeezed my jaw and frowned. "The city of gold."

  "Bingo."

  Chapter 6

  Soon enough, Darcy was sitting on the couch with us, three ice-cold cans of Mountain Dew on the coffee table and me having a go at the cheese puffs. Hey, I didn't trust this guy but I was only human.

  The junk food wasn't the only thing on the table. Winthrop laid out satellite images of an island.

  "Connor's island compound," I noted between crunches. "I checked it out once when I was hitting the cartel. It's cleaned out, like you said. What good is it to us now?"

  The elder animist shook his head. "You don't just forgo an asset like this, man."

  "Why not? He owns tons of land in the Caribbean. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be there. We know about the place. You said it yourself. He's in hiding."

  "I didn't say he's in hiding. I said he went dark. He's around but he's throwing shade on his movements. Keeping his trail secret. Keeping his head down. Connor isn't officially hiding because we're not officially looking for him. Comprende? Take a look at these pictures." Winthrop arranged them in a row. "Notice anything?"

  I wasn't sure what would stand out from a series of satellite images. The interior of the mansion wasn't visible and the grainy photos didn't have the definition to show individuals on the ground.

  The island was shaped like a crescent, nearly a full circle with the majority of the land mass on one wide half. An inlet broke the edge and led to a pool in the center. That half of the island was wooded—a far cry from the manicured lawn and picturesque beach beside the compound. A long dock extended from behind the building, much of it hidden by the greenery.

  "Connor's overseen a little construction project over the last two months," said Winthrop. "He retrofitted his dock to better facilitate his submarine. You can clearly see the extension here. In the last shot you can even catch the surfaced vessel under the tree cover."

  I stared at the photo. "So he's back out in the open?"

  "Not exactly," he said. "Connor doesn't stay at the compound much at all. He's living in his sub, but he uses the port to refuel and keep a supply line open."

  "It's still an easy place to hit him. Lie in wait until he makes a pit stop."

  Winthrop laughed and leaned back. "My God, we're not assassins. Anyway, you're forgetting his private army. Getting there unannounced isn't easy."

  I chewed my lip. I knew a secret way to the island that utilized the magical underworld of the Nether, but I wasn't about to spill.

  "Besides," continued Winthrop, "leaving the country isn't safe. An action like that would announce our intentions on his turf. It's suicide."

  Darcy sat next to me watching videos on her phone. She was only half listening. But then, she already knew where this conversation was going.

  "You have a job for me," I said. "But if Connor's running Agua Fuego on autopilot, and only using his compound for resupply, and hiding his movements from everyone, how do you know where he'll be?"

  Winthrop smiled. "That's the strength of not declaring war. You see, just like us, Connor needs to keep up appearances. He won't enter Miami without giving us a heads up. Professional courtesy."

  My face darkened. "You knew he was gonna hit me this morning."

  Winthrop offered nothing in his defense.

  "You could have given me a warning. My"—I caught myself and changed my wording—"friends were there."

  Nobody but a select few knew Fran was my daughter. Not even her. It didn't hurt to keep it that way. As it stood, she was off-limits to Connor. The Society had no such restrictions.

  "We got to you as discreetly as we could," he assured. "This is the big play. The big secret. If we're to help each other, that's the only way it can be. On paper, Cisco Suarez remains a problem for the Society and Agua Fuego alike."

  I huffed angrily. Friendly intentions and calculated strategy didn't go hand in hand. "So what's your plan? Leave me out as bait until we kill each other?"

  "Too late for that," laughed Winthrop. "Connor missed you. I doubt he's coming back. He has bigger and better things to worry about. That's why you were able to enjoy some R&R in the first place. He's too calculated to waste time with you."

  "Easy for you to say. He didn't set you on fire."

  The old man shrugged. "I know it hurts your ego, Cisco, but you were just his cover story. Appearances, remember? Connor's really in Miami for something else. Something time sensitive that he didn't want to tell us about. Something he needs."

  I stood up from the couch and wal
ked to the window, keeping my back to them. Winthrop's assertion made sense. Connor had left me alone for two months. Two whole months. With the newly acquired Horn of Subjugation, an artifact he'd tracked down over decades, it stood to reason he'd ultimately switch his focus from me to his prize. What had the jinn said in my hotel room? Unlocking the Horn's mysteries was taking considerable effort.

  No doubt Connor had been studying my photographs in hopes of discovering more about the Horn. Finding out what I knew. Burning Cisco alive was just a two-for-one bonus. Connor Hatch was crafty, all right. And Winthrop was right. It hurt to hear I was little more than a cover story.

  At the same time, there was no way in hell Winthrop was giving me a clean line. He was part of the Society, an organization that—by its nature—is manipulative and covert. Winthrop might not be as bad as Margo, but there was no doubt he was using me.

  I took a long, reflective breath. "If Connor's not in Miami for me," I said, "then what is he here for?"

  Winthrop twisted around in the couch to look at me, but I kept my gaze on the window. "That's what we want you to find out, Cisco. I think it has to do with the city of gold. All I can offer you is a starting point. A house on the Intracoastal where Connor's submarine is docked. That's where he started. If you go there, maybe you can follow his trail."

  I grunted. With half the necromancers in Miami hunting me, that was easier said than done.

  Chapter 7

  The major beaches in Miami lie along barrier islands that protect the coast. That's why you need bridges to get to them. In the city proper, those bridges span Biscayne Bay, a large body of water that has islands of its own, including the shipping hub that is the Port of Miami.

  Back in the VW Bus beside Darcy, Berna at the wheel, we headed up Ocean Drive, out of North Miami Beach, hopping from one barrier island to the next until we were close to Hallandale Beach. Up here, the water between the islands and the coast collapsed into a thin snake that twisted along like a river: the Intracoastal Waterway, a channel all the way up to Boston, used freely by commercial shippers and recreational boaters alike.

  Our destination was much closer: the upscale mansion Connor had claimed as a base of operations on the border of Miami-Dade County. He'd taken his Soviet submarine right into the Bay and up the Intracoastal. We followed that same path from the road.

  "Wow," I said, gawking at the wide inlets, large houses, and accompanying yachts. "Really opens your eyes to how the other half lives." I turned to Darcy. It surprised me that she wasn't on her cell phone but she still wasn't especially talkative. I leaned forward. "What do you think, Berna? You gonna retire out here one day?"

  The woman's meaty cheeks stiffened, but that was the only reaction I got out of her. Not even a glance in the rearview mirror. Tough crowd.

  I sighed and kept quiet until Darcy announced, "That's it. The yellow house with the fountain in the driveway. See it?"

  I cleared my throat. "It's kinda hard to miss."

  Berna didn't slow until we were a few blocks past it. She pulled into the outskirts of a mall and parked.

  "We can't go with you," said Darcy. "You heard Winthrop. We can't risk exposing ourselves. We'll wait for you here." She jerked the side door open and stepped out ahead of me.

  My cowboy boots landed on the pavement. I stretched. "That's it? No, 'Go get him, stud' or any words of luck?"

  Darcy rolled her eyes. "Make sure you're not followed back to us."

  "Sure thing," I said about as earnestly as a McDonald's cashier wishes you to have a nice day. "I'll also do my best not to get killed, in case that's a concern."

  She flashed a resentful smirk. "I don't like this any more than you do, okay? I'm just trying to get by, same as you."

  I returned a skeptical nod. "Who are you working for, Darcy? Winthrop or Margo?"

  "Younger talents like me and Shen get traded around as needed." She collapsed the gummy bracelets on her arm to her wrist. "You too. Congratulations. You're on the Society's radar now."

  I snorted. "Doesn't really sound like I won much."

  "I know what you mean."

  I backed away and turned down the road, eager to get a lead on my nemesis.

  "Oh," called back Darcy. "And don't die."

  I nodded.

  The yellow house with the fountain was big enough that I spotted it from two blocks out, but it wasn't a snap to get to. The path was circuitous. I had to cross an inlet and circle around on my approach. Hiking in the Miami sun worked up a bit of a sweat.

  Two pickup trucks were parked in the front driveway. Same make and model, probably rentals. It was hard to tell now because the rental agencies had stopped putting giant stickers announcing tourists on vacation after several high-profile muggings. The last thing South Florida wanted to do was scare tourists, so rentals were disguised.

  Still, that was my guess. I figured a couple guards were sitting on the property while Connor was off doing his thing. Not a problem for me.

  I was running dry on spell tokens. No belt pouch of powders and candles. No shells for my shotty. My only weapon was a bronze knife.

  Once again I wasn't concerned. Unlike some of the amateurs on the street, I didn't need sacraments for casting. I had my dog-collar fetish on my wrist. My skull-and-pentacle belt buckle. And my tattoos weren't going anywhere. I didn't need a loaded gun, because I was one.

  At the same time, I wasn't an invincible tank. I opted to go in quietly, from as near the back of the property as possible without swimming.

  The Intracoastal has countless offshoots springing out along its length, giving waterside property to thousands in South Florida alone. This particular house was no exception, but the waterway was more private than most. Wide and deep, it followed a bend into a dead end, making Connor's house special. A good place to surface a submarine out of sight, even if no such vessel was docked now. I wondered if it was underwater right there, barely hidden, its staff keeping Connor's secret safe while he was away. Maybe that meant nobody was inside the house.

  I scanned the yard. No empty beer cans, spent cigarettes, or other signs of recent use. The dock was abandoned. I couldn't see anything underwater.

  I crept to the brickwork patio, using gazebo curtains for cover against the large windows spanning the back wall. I closed in against the glass and peeked inside. Lights off. No movement. So far, so good.

  I tried the handle of the sliding glass door. Not only was it unlocked, but it glided open silently along its frame. Look at that. Money really did make everything better.

  I entered but stopped short when I realized there was a guy on the couch. He was lying along its length. Impossible to see from the window, but there he was. Lucky for me, he was snoring like a coffee grinder. An Uzi rested on the shaggy carpet beside him. I stepped lightly to the mercenary shirking his guard duties, picked up the weapon, and tucked it into my jeans in the small of my back.

  The guy? Well, he wasn't hurting anyone for the moment. I left him to his beauty sleep and checked around.

  The good news was he was the only one in the house. The bad news was the place was cleaner than I'd hoped. I supposed if Connor had only been in town a day or two, he wouldn't have time to really use the place. That was too bad because it was gonna make tracking him down harder. The thought occurred to me that I didn't need to play Winthrop's game at all. I could just kick back here and wait for the jinn to return. Surely, when he was done in Miami, Connor would exit the city from the same private dock he'd used to enter. Of course, that plan didn't sate my curiosity.

  With nothing jumping out at me on the ground floor, I went straight for the master bedroom upstairs. A large balcony overlooked the patio. The bed was used. I checked the closets for spare bags but didn't find anything. When you're a jinn, wearing real clothes was pointless. The second Connor blinked into thin air he'd lose them. So he did what many magical beings do: clothe themselves with innate magic. Not spellcraft but a part of his being. It meant he traveled light.

&n
bsp; A large coffee-table book on the nightstand caught my eye. An Illustrated Re-creation of Arawak Life. The Arawak were a collection of indigenous nations along the Caribbean, the Taíno being one. They were the first natives encountered by Spanish explorers when Columbus sailed to the New World.

  I flipped through the pages. The book was a combination of high-resolution photographs of tribal artifacts and full-color illustrations of what everyday life for the natives would've looked like. Food prep, fishing, construction, agriculture, funeral rites. Not your usual light reading but nothing arcane.

  A folded page of newspaper slipped out from between the front cover and the first page. It was an article about public school funding from the Herald. Some bureaucrat was appealing for a review of expenditures in Miami-Dade County. I flipped the page over and skimmed half an article about cultural milestones in South Florida setting the stage for the rest of the country. My quick read didn't get the whole story and I was kind of lost, but I was pretty sure Connor didn't care about this article either. At the bottom corner of the page was an advertisement for History Miami Museum.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  "Attend a Taíno Funeral," it read. Then in small print: "Experience a lost culture through the eyes of those honoring their dead." The picture showed a distinctive U-shaped artifact with a protruding head in the middle that I recognized as Maquetaurie Guayaba, the Taíno god of the dead and their underworld, Coaybay. He was senior to my patron, Opiyel, the Shadow Dog.

  Chills ran up my spine. I wasn't sure why. Some instinct inside me dreaded this new information. It was bad enough Connor had the Horn, but now he was digging deeper. Closer. To answers, maybe, but to me as well. It felt like a violation. He was too close to my Taíno power line.

  The date of the exhibit ran across the bottom of the ad in bold print. A three-month display, opening today.

  "Connor's gonna be there," I said aloud. I strode to the door and stopped, realizing that it wouldn't just be the jinn. The Spaniard would be there as well, the conquistador bound to the Horn and a great ancestor of mine.