Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) (22 page)

"There was nothing pleasant about killing Baptiste."

"I didn't kill him," I said.

He frowned at my statement. "But why kill the African if you heeded his bidding?"

"Fuck you," I said, rising to my feet. A rush of blood left my head and I wavered a bit.

"You don't look so good, Suarez."

"Cut the threats. You can't take me all by yourself."

He chuckled. "This much is true."

I saw the ambush too late. Three blurs—no, birds—speared through the air toward me in a tight cluster. It wouldn't do much unless I got lucky, but I tossed the fistful of dirt their way. At the same time, a shadow javelin spiked up from the dirt, narrowly missing one.

I forced my mind into them. Felt their single-minded presence. They were closed off, somehow. Armored. With their master present and their current bearing, there was no time to break them. No time to reach for my whistle.

Another spear of shadow shot up. Another. I finally grazed one and sent it off course, barreling into the ground. The other two were almost upon me.

The bokor hadn't thought to bring a flashlight this time. I pulled my fist back and drew in the darkness. A heavy gauntlet gloved my hand, and I propelled it forward just in time to smash into the remaining birds just three feet away from me.

Just in case I missed, my left forearm swung in front of my head to protect my eyes from razor-sharp claws and beaks.

It wasn't necessary. The gauntlet shattered the hollow bones of the two birds. They exploded in a sickening crunch. But it was fulminant. More like a pop powered by escaping gas.

A green fluid—not blood—hurled from their destroyed carcasses, still carrying their momentum. My arm bar was useless. The rotten substance sprayed all over my hands and face.

It burned. I fell to the dirt immediately. I grasped for loose soil and rubbed it against my skin, hoping to neutralize whatever it was.

I tried to regain my feet, but my body reacted violently. I keeled over, coughing. Spitting up blood. My empty stomach vomited bile. My muscles grew lazy.

I heard the bokor laughing over my gasps and coughs. I tried to wipe my eyes, to focus on my assailant, but they seized closed.

My hand pawed the ground, struggling just to crawl. Closer. Closer. As the footsteps neared, I wrapped my fingers around the bokor's knife. Chevalier pressed it to the dirt with his shoe.

"What did you do to me?" I asked weakly.

He kneeled down and recovered his knife. "I only needed the proper preparation, my friend."

Bad decisions, I thought.

I puked again and tried to shake the nausea away. If this was a magical poison, it could be done. But I couldn't wrap my tethers around it.

"What do you think I should do with this?" Chevalier placed his blade against my neck.

"Not like this," I pleaded.

Another amused chuckle. "Most do not choose how they leave this world, Suarez."

"Let me," I urged, my voice growing stronger with desperation. "Tunji Malu. He is my master." I forced my eyes open and saw the bokor considering my words. "Let me kill him."

Jean-Louis Chevalier cracked a sly smile and plunged the dagger into my neck.

 

 

 

 

My eyes opened to a rush of breeze. A concrete overpass stretched above. The sound of vehicles speeding overhead drowned out the rest of the world.

I didn't bother crying out. It would be futile here, on the outskirts of the city. At least I was still alive.

I tugged at my limbs. They were chained, staked to the ground. I was sprawled out on my back in the shape of an X. Flashbacks to the house on Star Island rushed through my head. The time of my first death. Tunji had gutted me there. I could vaguely recollect it now.

But this was different. As I scanned my surroundings with blackened eyes, I didn't see the trappings of ritual. This wasn't magic, it was muscle.

Someone outside my vision approached.

"I don't feel sick," I said plainly.

Chevalier stepped around and looked down at me. His silver earrings hung over his cheeks. The painted white skull left hollow, black holes over his eyes, but the albino irises within were even more unnerving.

"I alleviated your pain," he explained, holding up the knife. "I cut it out of you. Sucked the infection from your arteries." He cocked his head. "Until I decide whether to give it back or not."

I nodded. When he'd stabbed me, it wasn't to take my life. He was casting a spell, undoing the disease.

"We're not in Little Haiti," I noted.

The white skull grinned. "If we were, you would be in pieces right now, being fed to the corpses, never to be seen again."

I shuddered. "Yeah. Thanks for that."

Chevalier kneeled over me. "Baptiste was a warmonger," he said with distaste. In a split second, his blade was again at my throat. "But Max was my friend." I believed it. The bokor seemed to be on a last name basis with everyone except her.

My body twisted against the bindings. I was locked down tight. Still, the Shadow Dog was legendary among the Taíno for escaping all ties. In the darkness of the night, I slipped down into the shadow.

A searing pain jolted my wrists and ankles. I screamed and jerked back to the physical world, taking heavy breaths and checking on my extremities.

The bokor chuckled. "Iron binds those of spirit."

I now noticed the four handcuffs that held me to the ground. Iron is the bane of creatures of spirit, of many things not of this world. Me? It didn't hurt me, but it sure as hell kept me down. I guess when the Taíno were creating their legends, they hadn't come across iron yet.

"Max tried to kill me," I said quickly. "I told her to stay and she didn't."

He flashed his teeth. "She was a stubborn woman, Suarez, but your accusation falls flat. Her charge as a bodyguard was to defend Baptiste."

"I never meant him harm. None of the Bone Saints. I was there for the Nigerians."

The bokor narrowed his eyes into slits.

"It was Tunji who sliced their heads off," I told him. "I only killed in self-defense. Think about the kid I left alive, the one who blew my cover. It would've been more convenient to kill him."

Chevalier pulled the knife away and leaned back. "And so you still live. What was your business with Obazuaye?"

"To get the truth. To expose it. What I knew, it should've helped Baptiste."

The bokor tapped the knife on my chest impatiently.

"They've been playing you for fools," I said.

He countered with a defiant glare. "Obazuaye was brokering peace. I have heard him speak on it myself."

"Maybe," I conceded. "He wasn't a bokor, he was a businessman. If you ask me, it was only about money to him, not unity. But Namadi doesn't matter. That was our mistake. Namadi
never
mattered. Tunji Malu was the architect of the betrayal. The assassinations to your leadership—"

"Carried out by you."

"
Ordered
by him. Tunji had me under some kind of vampiric compulsion, same as Namadi. Whatever Baptiste did to me in that dumpster must've shaken the black magic away. I figured he was using me to ignite a gang war."

"Impossible. The Nigerians are few. They would not be so bold."

"So I realized. They can't meet your numbers. They could never control the streets. So Tunji wielded me, a third party, someone without a link back to him. He acted to create instability during the pretense of peace."

"To what end?"

"Property values. Buyouts and redevelopment. I have a friend with the police who admitted as much."

"A friend." The bokor pondered my words closely.

My face darkened. "Not anymore."

Chevalier rustled silver-armored fingers, twiddling his knife. "Politics. Police. Property. These do not sound Haitian or Nigerian. They sound white, Suarez. Cuban."

I frowned and kept silent. The bokor was right. Tunji said he served Nigeria but how was he furthering their interests? I squirmed against the cuffs that bit into my wrists, hoping the bokor would spare me since he understood the true evil. Chevalier's expertise meant he knew just how mindless my actions had been. The conspiracy wasn't mine. Or his. We were just soldiers in different armies, fighting different wars.

A fleet of trucks passed overhead. The sky rumbled and relaxed. The bokor waited until it was quiet again to speak.

"Tell me about Tunji Malu."

I swallowed. My life depended on my ability to convince Chevalier about this next part. "He works a dark magic. Like ours, but different. West African. He came stateside with Namadi seeking power. At some point ten years ago, we crossed paths and he killed me."

The statement was true enough. I kept out the part about why we had crossed paths. I didn't need word of necromantic artifacts getting around.

"He killed my friend," I continued. "My family." More lies. More shadowing the truth. "Laurent called him an asanbosam."

Chevalier's eyes widened. "This is impossible. The asanbosam were exterminated from the continent a century ago."

"You can't exterminate what lives in the Nether. A hole can open up anywhere and anything can crawl out. I was attacked by a trickster spider too."

The bokor chewed his lip. The Nether is a strange place with lots of names. Its creatures have sometimes been a blessing to humankind but, more often than not, they've been a curse. Where Nether creatures walk, atrocities follow. From the troubled look on Chevalier's face, I could tell he felt the same.

"How were the asanbosam killed in Africa?" I asked.

He cocked his head. "Influenza. Disease. Their blood is volatile. Powerful, but hyperactive."

"It's unstable," I concluded. "Baptiste hit him with a poison that melted his skin. When I did the same, Tunji was weakened. That's when he opened the warded door. I hurt him."

The Bone Saint chortled. "He recovered quickly after your escape. He blamed the attack on you and never mentioned your association." Chevalier's face darkened. "We allowed him to leave safely. Now he is in hiding."

I smiled wickedly. That was my cue. "I know where he is, Chevalier. He's in the Everglades. A safe house. Unchain me and I'll kill him tonight."

The bokor leaned away from me, considering my offer. I had to give Jean-Louis Chevalier credit—he knew I was manipulating him. Unlike some of the Saints, the bokor was no stranger to guile. "Perhaps," he hedged. "But you are still a danger to me. Once you have surrendered free will, it is easily taken. I may find you siding with your master again."

"That's why Tunji needs to die."

The bokor stood. "You assume the vampire is your master."

"He's the one," I said. "There's no one else."

Chevalier shook his head. "No one else? You yourself spoke of the anansi. A connection with Namadi. With other bokors."

"All dead," I reminded him.

Chevalier flashed his teeth. "Let us not talk about death as the greater populace might. You, too, are a dead man." The bokor clasped his hands behind his back and paced around me. "Tunji Malu still has living ties. The police. Other animists."

"There's no evidence of that."

"Suarez, I have never heard of an asanbosam who could wield magic."

I gritted my teeth. The dark magic that draped over me could've been anything. Enchanted venom. A curse. It didn't need to be human spellcraft. "You've never seen an asanbosam before Tunji Malu. We don't know what they're capable of."

The soldier frowned. "If he is as capable as you say, chasing him alone is a death sentence."

"Win-win for you, isn't it?"

He considered. "And if I unbind you? You agree not to attack me?"

"A full truce," I promised.

He nodded. "Until the vampire is dead."

Of course. The bastard still wanted to kill me. Maybe it was for Max. Or maybe just his dog. In any event, being chained to the floor was a weak bargaining position. I nodded silently.

Jean-Louis Chevalier withdrew a set of small keys and unlocked the handcuffs. I sat up and rubbed my wrists.

"The asanbosam are said to be swift," he warned. "Able to absorb physical attacks."

"I've seen him in action. Like you said before, we just need proper preparation."

The bokor laughed heartily. "We, Suarez?"

I regained my feet and nodded. "What you hit me with. Sickness, right? That's your magic. Pestilence. A special kind of death."

Chevalier clenched his jaw and looked me in the eyes. I told him my plan.

 

 

 

 

The air in the Everglades was thick and humid. Plant life and swampland, mostly untamed, met with the sun-bleached asphalt road. The turnoff was right where Evan said it would be, past an aging alligator attraction, little more than rocky swale to cars speeding by. When I pulled off the road I noticed a dirt road heading into the brush.

The area was pitch black. Abandoned. Barren of the lights and sounds of the city, but alive with fluttering insects and animals scurrying in the brush.

This time was my time. The night. The blackness. This was when I was strongest and sneakiest, when my magic would garner its most potential.

As I studied the path cut through the grass, I knew this was where I had to go. I knew this was what I had to do. I also knew I might never come back.

Nobody would lose sleep over me.

For a lot of people, my disappearing would be the best thing that happened to them. Evan could go back to raising my daughter, Emily to moving on. Kasper and Milena and anyone else wouldn't need to suffer like my family had, like Martine had. Even the Bone Saints would be free of my menace.

In a world of saints and sinners, why is it only the sinners who get second chances?

All those close to me had paid for my sins. That wasn't fixable. What I did now was for vengeance, not salvation. My soul was already too black to wipe clean; staining it some more couldn't hurt.

I stood outside the Fiat and waited in the peaceful night, feeling the world for the first time. The breeze. The ticking of the car's engine. The insects buzzing and biting at me.

Any outcome tonight suited me just fine. Either I snuffed out a great evil, or the vampire snuffed me out, this time for good. Either way, the balance sheets of the world would tally a little brighter.

Headlights flashed over me as a vehicle bounced from the road to the grass. A work van with an empty cargo rack on the roof parked behind the Fiat. Chevalier exited the vehicle with his usual grim presence.

"It is ready," he said. "But I think it is not enough." The bokor was decked out in full gear, skulls and silver, yet he didn't move. He didn't share my death wish.

I kicked at a stumpy wooden post along the road and turned down the path without a word.

"Don't forget, Suarez," called the bokor, flipping the ceremonial knife in his hand. "After you finish him, if you live, we still have business to attend to."

I continued without acknowledging him. He would help me or he wouldn't. For now, I walked alone. It was better that way, unencumbered by others. I wasn't sure what to expect, and I needed to be free to use the shadow.

Cisco Suarez was nobody's thrall, man or fae. My mistakes were mine alone to make. As cheesy as it sounded, I'd rather die free than live in servitude. Tunji Malu could pry my silver whistle from my cold, dead hands.

The path was well beaten. Twin tracks of dirt ran through the grass like scars, signaling regular (but light) vehicle passage. Foliage encroached on both sides, even as a swamp lined the southern portion. Eventually, I reached a patch where the trees cleared and a concrete embankment sloped into the water. A dock for lowering boats into the river. That's why the dirt road existed. I walked over it and stopped just short of getting my feet wet.

I scanned the swamp. None of the stars above were reflected in the murky water. The eyes of an alligator, barely peeping above the surface, watched me. I glanced at my red boots, rapped them on the concrete, and winked at the predator.

"Don't even think about it," I warned.

It didn't move at all. In fact, the water itself was completely still. Come out, come out, wherever you are.

The worn tire tracks gave way to thick vegetation. I continued along the grass. Wild, but still trodden upon. This began to look more promising as a hideout, and my patience was rewarded when I came upon a small metal utility box in disrepair.

Something, at least, was out here.

Further down was a large, concrete structure. Barely a building. The windows were boarded up with plywood. The roof was a single layer of corrugated metal. It was more like a permanent shed on a concrete platform, but it was two stories high.

Drat. I didn't have good luck with sheds.

A metal access door was barred shut with a heavy chain. Opting for silence, I didn't touch it. Instead I made my way to the concrete platform to the side, which I realized was really the front of the building. Not only that but the structure was much longer than it looked from the side. Multiple large enclosures spanned the face, like a fifteen-car garage, except this was an old boathouse.

Tucked away and forgotten, this was Tunji Malu's hideaway.

Ever quiet, I crept across the cracked cement, peering into the shadows for any movement. I suppose it was too much to expect an army. Tunji Malu wasn't a king in a fortress, surrounded by animist allies like Chevalier had suggested. The vampire acted more like a frightened animal, cowering in the darkness with the rats.

Around the other side of the building were more boarded up windows and a metal door. This one was not chained closed.

It would be ideal to slip in silently, through the shadows, but there was no space for that. I tugged softly at the door. It scraped against the frame as it pulled away. The hinges creaked and set my teeth on edge. Even worse, the racket echoed throughout the inner chamber.

So much for stealth.

I stepped into the pitch blackness. Except, to me, it wasn't dark at all. I could easily see every detail of the open room.

As a West African vampire, I was betting Tunji could see just as clearly.

He stood at attention along the far wall, watching me.