Heart Strings (Black Magic Outlaw Book 3) (3 page)

 

 

 

 

When you slip into an animal den, there are lots of things that can surprise you. Teeth, claws, venom—a hibernating bear. What I didn't expect was for the ground to give out. One second I was squeezing into a claustrophobic ditch, the next I was in free fall.

I tumbled head over heels for a prolonged second before my back thudded against solid ground. As your animist tour guide, I immediately figured where I was. It's just that I hadn't seen anything like it in quite a while. I guess, considering my ten-year sabbatical, there were a lot of things I hadn't seen for a while.

I was in a cavern of sorts. Something that would be real cozy with the mole people. Wide walls of bored dirt formed a large room with two exit passages leading away from each other at an angle. The ceiling was hardened dirt as well, with roots dangling in the air like claws. Behind me, the soil ramped up to a small entry filled with blinding light.

This wasn't the normal under-earth. Dig ten feet deep anywhere in Miami and you'll find water, especially in the Everglades. This earth was lower than that. Only accessible by magic. In outdated legends, this was where magic came from.

You and I know that to be inaccurate, but it didn't make the place any less mysterious. I now sat in the Nether, what many call the underworld.

It's not damnation. It's not the shadow world, full of spirits of the dead, or anything like that. It's more like a lateral realm. Just another place, except this one ain't on Google Maps. The Nether isn't really in the same space as everything else, but if you know a bit of spellcraft (or happen to get inordinately lucky) you can find the nooks and crannies that lead here. What I found is called a rabbit hole by people in the know (like yours truly).

For perspective, it's important to realize that The World We Know is divided into steppes. The Earthly Steppe is Miami, North America, China, the planets, and the deepest reaches of space. What we call the universe. But there's another steppe below us: the Nether, land of the silvans. There are other types of Nether creatures, too—fiends, giants, scourgelings. They're sometimes collectively known as the fae or the wild folk, but the others aren't important. The true players down here are the silvans.

Humans aren't inherently magical. The few animists among us require spirits to channel magic. Nether beings, however, are born of it. They don't cast spells so much as utilize natural defense mechanisms. It's literally instinct with them. The West African vampire that killed me a decade ago, whose metal teeth rested on a shelf in my hideaway? He had been a Nether fiend.

So it's safe to say I was a wee bit nervous at having already drawn the attention of two of the fabled creatures. They stood over me with perplexed expressions, making me feel like a medical school cadaver.

Call me a pig, but the girl drew my eye first. It wasn't my fault, really, on account of her slight dress. What amounted to a sash of red cloth wrapped her small chest between her bare shoulders and midriff. Her impossibly skinny waist was well-muscled and transitioned into a shag of bona fide horse legs, complete with straight tail and white hooves.

She was a satyr, supple and feminine on top, yet powerful underneath.

She was pretty, too. Large doe eyes on a childlike face. Expressive eyebrows and flowing black hair that curled across her slender shoulders and back. I'd feel remiss if I failed to mention the flesh-toned horse ears that flopped down either side of her face, each with a large gold hoop earring. She wore only the bright red sash and a matching wrap around her waist.

Her companion was her polar opposite, and don't assume because I mentioned her first that he blended into the background, because he didn't. Like, not at all. He was huge, imposing, and—there's no gentle way to say this—a minotaur. That meant he had a full-on bull's head, ears twice as long as the satyr's (with twice as many earrings), thick brown horns planted in his skull (more earrings somehow), and a red Mohawk and chin-beard. And man, gold hoops must be the height of silvan fashion because he had a huge one that put all the others to shame dangling from his nostrils.

The minotaur's body was covered in a sheen of short brown fur, thinned over the chest and stomach to show off more muscles than I could count. He only wore a shoulder strap and simple leather breeches that cut out under his knees to reveal thick legs ending in black hooves.

As I studied him, he made a throaty grumble that vibrated his cheeks.

"Uh..." I started meekly, "you kind folks didn't happen to see my cat, did you?"

The minotaur's grumble ended in a sharp snort that shook the ring in his nose. "A human," he growled, considering the situation. "I
hate
humans."

"If it's any consolation, I'm with you on hating a fair share of humans too."

Another rumble-snort. The minotaur turned to the satyr. "We should kill him."

Sheesh. That's silvans for you.

Everybody knows what silvans are. Not always by name, but we've all seen the artwork. We've all heard the legends. There once was a time way back that silvans interacted with humans openly. Greek scholars debated their nature. Sages sought out their advice. It wasn't until the Middle Ages that human technology became a real threat to them. Mass warfare, the end of paganism, it caused the silvans to lie low and all but disappear.

So yeah, maybe a little bad blood between the races. But, to be fair, they have their own perfectly good steppe called the Nether. You don't see too many humans foraging down here on their turf. Present company excluded.

I watched the satyr hopefully. Tried to find sympathy in her light-brown eyes. Some common ground, maybe.

You're not supposed to trust silvans, you know, but satyrs are generally good-natured. Throughout history they've often brought luck upon mankind. I could use some of that.

"I really don't think I'm worth killing," I chanced. "Just a human, and all that." I waited for her verdict.

Her brown eyes pinched closed in mirth. The satyr opened her mouth and... giggled.

Not exactly the vote of confidence I was hoping for.

The minotaur grunted and his jowls settled into a smile. Then he reached over his shoulder and drew a kukri from a sheath on his back. At least now I knew what the leather shoulder strap was for. Just my luck it was a giant knife with a bent blade.

 

 

 

 

Kukris are mean-looking short swords that sport a sharp angle in the middle of the blade. The inward bend makes it more of a raking weapon, imposing leverage in close quarters. Good for tunnels, I figured. The minotaur jabbed it in my general direction.

Whether it was a strike or a warning, I didn't hesitate to phase into the darkness. There are lots of problems with the Nether, but no one will ever tell you it isn't well shadowed. Even next to a rabbit hole, I had good coverage down here. My body backed into the ground, slipped into the darkness, and slid forward, between the two silvans.

This kind of dash only works for short distances. A few yards, maybe more with a long shadow. The good thing is, when you're talking giant knives, sometimes a couple inches is all the difference between life and death.

I materialized behind the wild folk before they caught on to what had happened. Taking advantage of their confusion, I drew a line from the shadow, a tight cord of ether that wrapped around the minotaur's blade like a whip. My hand with the dog collar bracelet—my fetish to Opiyel, the Shadow Dog—closed into a fist and wrenched to the side. The shadow whip mimicked the motion, tugging hard at the kukri.

It was a great move. Perfectly executed. Lesser foes would've been disarmed, but the minotaur's grip held firm against my attempt. The large knife remained in his hands.

I yanked on the shadow twice more, but the beast was strong. He wrapped his other hand around the blade's handle and turned to face me with a rumbling growl.

"A wizard," he spat, ear flicking in contempt. "I
hate
wizards."

This guy.

"Actually," I said, carefully keeping my shadow whip in place. "Most people call me witch or necromancer or even brujo. Wizard is a bit too
Harry Potter
for me."

Another giggle from the satyr. I wondered if she got the reference.

"Release my weapon," commanded the minotaur, tugging at it.

His strength was impressive. It took noticeable effort to keep the shadow on the blade. What the minotaur didn't know was that my spellcraft couldn't wield the knife like some kind of ghostly soldier. It could only pull at it. If the silvan just released it, the pretentious sword would clatter to the floor. Worse then, this would turn into a grappling match. Never grapple with a minotaur.

"Throok," chimed the satyr.

Us guys tugged at the knife, ignoring her, eyes locked in an impromptu staring contest. Sure he was seven feet tall and put my ample muscles to shame but, damn it, I would beat him if he just blinked.

"Throok," repeated the girl.

The minotaur spun around and the line of shadow wrapped across his back, as if he could use leverage to free it. Maybe he could. I strained against his power. Cutting and running back up the rabbit hole was starting to sound awfully good. You might think the DROP team was a headache, but you've never dealt with silvans before.

The satyr balled her hands into fists and stomped on the floor. "THROOK!" she screamed.

The minotaur and I finally turned to her.

"What the crap is a throok?" I prodded.

The minotaur grumbled, and the satyr composed herself and smiled. "Not a
what
, wizard. A
who
. Throok is my bodyguard."

My eyes wandered to the seven-foot-tall steroid machine. "You're Throok?"

I blinked. Damn.

"Put your kukri away, Throok," she said.

His muscles remained tense. "He's seen you. That information is valuable."

I knotted my brow. "To who? I wouldn't know who to ask or what to say."

Believe me, the last thing I wanted was to get involved in silvan politics. The various circles perpetuate endless feuds and plots against each other. Besides, silvans don't really have currency. They trade and barter. Sure, they might hoard the occasional treasure, but they usually deal in favors.

"We can use him," she said. "He's talented."

"He's dangerous," answered Throok.

"If he weren't he wouldn't be useful."

The minotaur grumbled. He did that a lot.

"Guys," I said, relaxing my stance, "would you quit talking about me like I wasn't here?"

The satyr girl smiled and rested delicate fingers on Throok's arm. "Sheathe your blade."

He frowned and turned to me. "Release my weapon."

"You won't attack me?"

"I swear it. Not until it is again unsheathed."

I was floored by his generous pledge. That bought me, what, three seconds of life? Still, looking into the satyr's large eyes, I thought I'd found my common ground. I opened my fist and the shadow dissolved.

Throok regained his balance and hooked the blade over his back. I stayed ready, expecting him to immediately unsheathe it, but his hand came away empty.

The satyr smiled and patted his arm. "That wasn't so bad," she consoled, hopping over to me. She put a dainty hand on my shoulder, leaned close, and winked. "You see?"

I tried not to flinch away from the silvan. She looked real cute (besides the half-horse thing) but that didn't mean she was innocent. The wild folk are famed tricksters but, again, I was relying on the age-old wisdom that satyrs were benevolent.

"My name's Ceela," she said. She did this cute thing where her nose wiggled when she said her name. Adorable.

The minotaur grunted.

Okay, Cisco, stay focused. I didn't want to be known as the famous outlaw who fell victim to a wink.

"What brings you here?" asked Ceela.

I shrugged. "Why? This your land?"

She giggled. "The Margins of the Nether are owned by no one, and there are plenty more wild lands still. No, our dominion is much deeper."

I nodded. Any portions of the Nether that connected to the Earthly Steppe were easily susceptible to outside invasion. Not the most stable place to set up a homestead, but it was all I'd ever seen of the realm.

"He's running," observed the minotaur. "Out of breath, soaking wet. He brings trouble."

Ceela's eyes widened in fascination. "Is this true?"

"Hardly," I said. "Cisco Suarez doesn't run. He merely
avoids
when convenient." She raised an eyebrow. Glad I was so amusing. "I don't want to hurt the police," I added.

Throok brought his head back. "An outlaw."

"In the technical sense, sure, but it's more of a flashy title. The important thing is the police officers aren't animists and they can't enter the Nether. They'll be gone in a jiffy."

Ceela hummed a singsong melody and strolled around me before coming full circle back to her bodyguard. "What do we care for the justice of Earthly authorities? You can stay in our hole."

"I thought you said it wasn't yours."

She hunched her slender shoulders and I thought her sash would fall off. She was so skinny I wondered what kept it on. I didn't see a tie in the back or anything. Of course, only real clothes needed such trappings. Silvans could shift their appearance slightly with magic. They couldn't exactly alter their features willy-nilly, but they could change their dress and appear more human at times. I wondered if her meager clothes were some kind of illusion.

No, if it was spellcraft that implied it could be dispelled. This was innate magic. A glamour. Probably as automatic to them as breathing.

"This place is not ours," amended Ceela. "I merely mean to say you can pass freely as you will."

I nodded. "Good to hear 'cause I was thinking I'd take off." I stepped toward the bright light of the rabbit hole.

"Wait," rushed the satyr. "Sit. Stay a while."

Throok cleared his throat. "We do not have time for this, Ceela."

She waved him off. "Don't you see? We can help each other."

"Whoa," I cut in. "Let's get something straight. I don't need your help. I only came down here by accident and it's already getting claustrophobic in here, but maybe that's on account of the seven-foot-tall bull-man."

Throok considered reaching for his knife. Ceela waved him off.

"You can slip away," she said. "I don't doubt that much after seeing your magic with my two eyes. But what happens the next time your authorities come knocking? They won't likely forget about you, will they? What's to stop them from knocking tomorrow night? Or the next?" She leaned into me again and did that nose-wiggle thing. Really playing up the cute angle. "I can make them forget your place forever."

I took a step back. Human interaction with silvans is the stuff of history, much of it clouded by legend, so it's hard to know definitively what they're capable of. The last thing I wanted to do was endanger the police officers, but if they could just... forget? Things would be safer for everyone.

"You won't hurt them?"

"We know better than to harm humans in their steppe."

"You've never been to their steppe," corrected the minotaur.

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe I keep secrets even from you, Throok."

He scoffed. "It's goes against the Table of Oak to mingle with humans before your seventeenth name day."

"Before your—" I dropped my jaw. "What are you, sixteen? You're not even old enough to..."

She winked at me.

"Drink," I finished. I turned to Throok. "What about you?"

He raised his head high. "I am a full adult. Seventeen."

I slapped my hand to my forehead. "Look, I really wasn't expecting to babysit..."

"Don't ridicule us," said Ceela. "Silvans mature early and quickly. Many of us have full charges at seventeen, and many are married before even that."

"But you're just kids. I can't ask you to go out there and risk yourself for me."

Throok chuckled, but Ceela answered. "We were on our way to your steppe anyway when you interrupted us," she said. "We will appear human to your kind, if we allow them to see us at all."

I sighed. The offer was tempting and I was out of objections, but I knew there was a catch. "What do you want in return?"

"Simple," she chimed. "Pretend you never saw us. We weren't here."

"That's it?"

Throok grumbled but she ignored him.

"That's it. Sit tight and give us time to bedazzle your law enforcement above. We'll move on and disappear into the Everglades. You'll likely never see us again."

If only. How could I turn that down? "Fine," I said, relenting. "Deal."

She smiled and tapped me on the shoulder again. This time I did flinch. "Where is your home?" she asked.

"It's a boathouse. Just go up the swamp, halfway to the road. The police will be there, though."

She nodded like I had just asked her to pick up a Big Mac. "Your authorities will be no problem. They'll pack up and not think on your haven again."

She put her lips to her palm and blew a kiss my way. Throok growled under his breath, but she grabbed his arm and led him away. They took two steps up the rabbit hole before the light consumed them. I wondered if they'd tumble on their asses on the other side like I had.

With the silvans gone, I was alone in the cavern. It seemed spacious now, with a ceiling higher than Throok could reach. I wondered which of the two passages they had come from, which dominions lay which way. I didn't know much about silvan circles, but I knew enough that I didn't want to go exploring.

I sat on my haunches and frowned. Maybe the lack of sunlight was making me grumpy. Maybe Throok used to be a jovial fellow. What there were no maybes about was that something was wrong.

I'd surprised the silvans. One wanted me dead, the other wanted me alive. Throok was worried that I'd seen them. He was shocked that Ceela might've violated the Oak Table and visited the Earthly Steppe before, yet that's what they were about to do anyway. That meant they were up to something. Desperate times, perhaps. I suddenly got the feeling that I wasn't the only one running.

Something scratched my butt. I figured I was sitting on an ant trail or something. When I checked beneath me, a black spider skittered away.

I jumped, and I mean JUMPED. I hate spiders. Really hate them. In my book, nothing with more than four legs deserves to live, but I can give some things a pass. Ladybugs, octopuses, grasshoppers—they don't bother me. Then again, none of those things lay eggs in your eyeball while you sleep.

I scrambled to my feet and wiped my jeans. My tank top. I upended my boots and checked my socks. I was good. I could share an underground cavern with a single spider, right?

Except there were two spiders. And three when I really looked. They weren't giant anansi trickster spiders or anything (believe me, I've dealt with those). They were tiny, normal spiders. Sometimes those are the worst kind.

I backed up to the wall, wondering if I'd stayed in the Nether long enough for the silvans to do their thing. I should've left, but I didn't. When I glanced at the passageway and saw a lanky woman wearing a long, white gown, I knew I'd lost my chance.