Heart Strings (Black Magic Outlaw Book 3) (9 page)

 

 

 

 

Mermaids are bad business.

I'd never met any firsthand before, but the sum of their mystique centers on luring gullible men into the depths to drown. That was it. That's what they're known for. And here I was—a man, no doubt, but also a formidable animist—and I'd fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Did that mean she was lying about me being a good kisser?

Jade snaked her body around me like an eel. Her cold scales kept a surprisingly firm grip around my legs, pinning them together.

Nobody's invincible—I don't care what kind of magic they sling. My first instinct in times like this is safety. The thought process is simple: Get away from the big thing with the claws.
Then
counterattack. The only problem was, I wasn't sure where to get away to. And the big thing with the claws was a small woman with a fish tail.

I tried to melt into shadow, to dash several feet away from the constricting serpent, but my body snagged on something. I couldn't reach the darkness.

There are things that can trap me in this world. Iron can bind my magic easily. The firm grip of a creature is often enough to keep me in place. Or even when I can shift through shadow, they sometimes come with me. This time was different. My magic responded sluggishly. I wasn't trapped, but numbed somehow.

It occurred to me that I'd never tried to duck into shadow in the ocean before. Was it not possible to rematerialize within the fluid? Was the salt in the water, legendary for disrupting the Intrinsics, neutering me?

These were the things I thought about while my brain was slowly deprived of oxygen.

Despite the seeming strength of her fish parts, Jade's top half was a diminutive woman. Maybe she was stronger than she had a right to be, but I had to have her beat. I shoved her away, callused hands scraping supple flesh. It was almost like fighting a pillow, and just as frustrating.

Keeping her at arm's length wasn't going to solve the problem of her tail wrapped around my legs. Her bottom half must have doubled in length in her true form, so she had plenty of serpentine mileage to tangle me with. I figured the only way to make her let go was to hurt her.

Underwater, my punches had a dreamlike quality. Sluggish, ineffective, like a slow-motion John Woo shot, only with bubbles instead of doves. (Are bubbles a heavy-handed metaphor for anything?)

Not only were my attacks slow by days, but Jade was alarmingly quick in her element. She effortlessly slid to and fro, frustrating every ounce of my spent effort.

I coughed my last breath of air out in a heave. My lungs burned, but I couldn't do anything for them. I kicked my legs, but that moved me up and down more than her. Except even the words "up and down" began to lose meaning. With motion in every direction possible, I grew lost and off-center. And that was before the delirium kicked in.

I pulled my chest to my knees and scratched at her green half. Her scales were tough like armor. Instead, I reached lower and caught the end of her translucent tail fin.
This
was the soft stuff.

Gripping meaty flesh in both hands, I ripped the fin apart. The skin tore easily under my power, and for the first time I felt Jade's stranglehold loosen.

The mermaid lunged at me with open jaws. My tattooed forearm met her bite. Razor-sharp teeth crunched down like a horse on a bit. Her anger was evident in her reddened eyes.

At least I didn't need to lie about the tattoo anymore.

I tugged at her Achilles Tail harder, threatening to take a piece with me. She unwrapped herself and swam away. I could've held on, but I figured she'd be going deeper. Instead I kicked off in the opposite direction.

Blinded by blue and struggling to get even my enhanced vision to help me, I paddled into the nothingness, hoping my gamble was right. I was verging on passing out when, after a few panicked seconds, my head burst free of the water. My lungs devoured the open air.

The sandbar was gone. There was no place to stand, gain purchase, or defend myself. I treaded water with violent kicks, hoping to keep unseen threats from my exposed body. My breaths came quick but heavy, trying to recover lost air but ready to hold again at a moment's notice. I spun around, trying to orient myself.

I was farther adrift than I'd thought. The city lights were a faint glow. Jade must have taken me deeper while we were under. She could've been anywhere, and I was still too far from safety.

I attempted to draw the night shadows from the surface of the water, but even those resisted me. Without the spell tokens in my belt pouch, my knife, or my command of darkness, my options were extremely limited. Swim-like-hell limited.

The water rocked below. Something swept passed me. A couple times, with a gulp of air, I submerged myself to look back and forth. Jade wasn't around. I needed to see if anything else was.

In the open air again, I let the black leak into my eyes, enhancing my night vision. The only nearby object was a plastic grocery bag. Littering assholes, but they gave me an idea.

My spellcraft was limited, and it wasn't Jade's doing. The saltwater theory was sounding real good. Maybe I wasn't able to draw shadow off the water itself, but that plastic, small as it was, was a different beast. I swam toward the bag just as something raked my stomach.

I spun and kicked, but too late. My foot whiffed through the water. My blood floated to the surface, now inert from the extra salt. Jade was still here, and she was on the attack.

She came again. I blocked the blow with my arm and she jetted past. I turned around and predicted her next attack vector. This time, she caught me in the stomach again, but I clamped my legs around her and held her away from me.

At the same time, I pulled at the string of darkness, leading a small line off the bag and snagging it on Jade's head. I tugged the magic, jerking her head backward. You might think she could easily pull the bag with her, but shadow is of the ether. It's not a physical thing attached to this world, to that object. Moving the bag moved the source of the shadow, but pulling the shadow didn't move the bag.

Jade shrieked at me and fought the pull like a big catch struggling on the line. But the meager shadow on the grocery bag wasn't strong enough. The mermaid ripped her head away, leaving strands of blonde hair in my magical grasp and me in her wake.

Twenty feet past, she screamed in rage. She charged me on the surface of the water now. Flashbacks from
Jaws
played through my head, except I wasn't equipped with a rifle or explosive oxygen tank, only a plastic bag. I was gonna need a bigger boat.

I yanked the shadow around to catch her again, but I couldn't coax it long enough and she was too fast. The mermaid crashed into me and we both sped along the water. I inhaled what could be my last breath before we went under. At least I'd made it a big one.

Her jaws nipped at my stomach as a mass of blonde hair covered my face. I pushed away her snapping teeth as much as I could. That, combined with my magically thick skin, allowed me to avoid serious damage. But that wasn't Jade's real play.

If I was a wide receiver, she was a linebacker, wrapping me up and taking me down. Only we wouldn't be bouncing on the turf, getting up, and slapping each other's butts in a show of sportsmanship. This was a long and slow tackle, and we were sinking deeper and deeper into oblivion.

I kneed her bare stomach, but I couldn't get enough force behind it. I clawed at her back with negligible results. As the bubbles escaped my mouth and the timer left on my oxygen ticked down, I'm not ashamed to say I resorted to pulling hair.

I'm not talking a wimpy shadow thread gripping a tuft of blonde, either. This was two strong man-fists fully wrapped to her scalp. I jerked her head back and she writhed in pain. Her eyes narrowed to vindictive slits. I shrugged and yanked her head even more, forcing the mermaid to arch her back and alter course. Instead of diving deeper, we leveled out.

Two dainty hands clasped my throat and squeezed. The constriction forced half my air out in a panicked gasp before I released her and clawed at my neck. I overpowered her and pulled her hands away, but the damage was done. She darted away and swam to my flank, just far enough that I could still see her.

I spun with the mermaid, expecting her charge, but ripped tailfins and torn hair had taught Jade the value of patience. She stayed back, watching me with eager eyes, circling me like a shark. Or rather, a vulture. Why fight when she could simply wait for me to die?

At least I wasn't disoriented anymore. I knew where up was, even if I couldn't see the sky. After another agonizing moment of staying ready, I knew it was make-or-break time. I coiled like a spring and kicked up, shooting toward the surface.

My hands thrust at my sides. I kicked my legs wide as Jade reached out for me. For one focused moment I swore I could make it, but trying to outrace a mermaid underwater is like grappling a minotaur. It's not done.

While my arms were at my side, Jade suddenly clamped me from behind in a bear hug. I tried to push away as her serpent tail wrapped up my legs, locking them together again. With a heaving motion, she pulled her locked fists into my stomach. It was the Heimlich maneuver, except it hurt like a bitch because she pressed against my wounded abdomen. The little remaining breath in my lungs came gurgling out.

I choked back the water that filled my lungs. I flopped around like a salmon in the jaws of a bear, feeling outclassed and overexerted. For all my frantic struggling, I barely managed to spin in her grasp so her chin was planted in my chest.

We stared eye to eye, and I could feel the life leaving me. My head lightened and everything became fuzzy. Comfortable almost. My muscles relaxed so much that Jade loosened her grip and pulled away, still entwining my legs but tracing my jawline with her fingers.

My God. I stared at her weightless breasts and firm, pink nipples and thought this wasn't the worst way to die. It took effort to keep my eyes open. More and more, I just wanted to lean into her welcoming grasp and go to sleep.

My teeth clamped down on my tongue to shock myself awake. The pain was sharp—the complete opposite of everything else my body was feeling. It was enough to alert my instincts to danger again. I grew panicked, alarmed, but I was still too weak to fight her off.

Jade smiled at my defiance. As she had done on the beach chair, she lifted her hands over her head and tamed the strands of blonde hair that floated in all directions. She pulled the hair over her shoulders seductively. I remembered Emily doing that.

My hand reached for her face, but Jade grabbed my wrist tightly. She stuck her lips out in a flirty pout that was half sad for me, and she brushed my hand against her hardened nipple. Then she leaned in for one last kiss.

The taste of blood wandered through my senses, and I remembered my feeble attempt to fight the delirium. Once again I bit down, skewering the tip of my tongue open. The pain was less therapeutic now, less intense. Even my ability to hurt was slowly fading. But the blood rushed freely in my mouth now, and that's the last thing you want to arm a necromancer with.

Jade wrapped her full lips around mine and I spit hot fire down her throat. She tried to draw back but I held her close, wrapping my forearms together, giving her the kiss she wanted.

I was too weak to hold it. She bucked out of my grip and darted haphazardly around. I couldn't focus on that. A lazy motion was all I could manage, but I pushed for the surface. It was a slog—ten seconds that lasted ten years—but I'd been through a decade of pain before. Every thrust built my confidence and strength, my body lying to itself about how dead I was, the biological equivalent of closing your eyes and covering your ears and shouting, "Nah, nah, nah. I'm not listening." And when I broke the surface and breathed in new life, my body burned with a fire that wanted to live. I wasn't going to die in this ocean.

Jade thrashed in the water underneath. I'd hurt her bad. No one wants black magic eating their insides, and she'd opened the door most vulnerable. So I was stunned that she clawed me from below, refusing to call off the attack.

I pushed off her with my feet, shooting away and buying time to hoard air in my lungs. The plastic grocery bag caught on my shoulder as I created distance between us. Jade's head popped out of the water twenty feet from me, and she was still gagging from my voodoo.

"What do you think of my kisses now?" I asked.

She hissed and charged me again, her tail splashing in and out of the water.

If she was determined to have this end in death, I'd oblige her.

She wrapped me up in a football tackle again. Instead of fighting her, I caught the plastic grocery bag, wrapped it around her head, and pulled it tight against her neck. She kept us shooting across the surface of the water like we were on skis, but she couldn't outrun her need to breathe.

Jade tried to wriggle away from me as she had done many times before, but this time
I
locked onto her. My legs clamped around her body and I fought off her arms with my elbows. She spun me around a few times like a gator, but I held tight.

Finally, in a last ditch effort, she dove under the sea.

Her swimming grew erratic, her resistance less focused. Her arms stopped clawing at me. Suffocating someone is a primal, personal thing. Every part of me wanted to stop, to keep myself from crossing an unspoken line. She jerked and convulsed in my grasp. I stared at her jade scales, trying to forget the human part of what I was killing.

 

 

 

 

More than swimming, I floated to the shore. It was a hesitant struggle. Even over the sandbar, I was content to let the current guide me like a jellyfish as my limbs hung limply beneath.

When I finally hit solid ground, it felt foreign. The world no longer swayed and pulled at me. I used my last remaining strength to crawl to dry sand before collapsing on the beach. I'm not sure how long I lay there but the beach stayed empty for hours. When my body once again responded to my brain's commands, I started slowly by sitting up. I didn't want to push things.

My head spun and I had the beginnings of a hangover, but the night sky refreshed me. I could feel the shadow hugging me, responding to my touch. I dragged myself to my tank top and stretched it over my head, taking one last look at the ocean that had nearly claimed me.

A mass huddled at the edge of the water. It was Jade's body, already bloated and blackened. Gone were her locks of golden hair. Many of her scales had fallen away, and her skin had turned a dull gray. The stinking flesh looked more like a badly rotted manatee than anything else, and in a few hours it probably wouldn't be identifiable as even that. Fae bodies don't desiccate as much as melt.

I turned away from the monster. She'd been a pro, playing me to perfection. Gemma and Jade, the assassin sisters. I wondered if Connor sent them after me. Or perhaps the wizard cartel, breaking their truce. I didn't like either possibility. It meant they'd known about me before I ever stepped on the island.

The Caribbean had suddenly lost its charm. I was a stranger in a strange land, and if it were up to me I'd hop on a boat right now and head back to Miami. But I wouldn't see Carla until midday, and arranging alternate transportation was more trouble than it was worth. As long as I watched out for Gemma and stayed away from the ocean, I'd be fine, right?

I trudged back to the hotel room, making sure no one followed me. Inside, I wedged the desk against the door. That was about as far as I got before passing out on top of the bedsheets.

The next morning, I fixed all my problems with bacon, eggs, and three shots of espresso, delivered to my door. I fitted back into my jeans, shoes, and belt pouch. I left the room before checkout time, picked up my scooter, and hit the road.

I passed by several of the properties I'd dug up in the computer office the day before. A couple of warehouses on the south side of the island and a residence in George Town, all owned by the daughters of Herbert Hoover. Connor Hatch owned another hotel, but I was most interested with the final address on my list: a private hangar at the airport. That backed up Simon Feigelstock's claim of the personal jet. I was in no mood for a fight so I didn't snoop at any of the addresses too much, but I did confirm there was no plane in Connor's hangar.

Before the morning waned, I headed to Rum Point Beach and visited Wallace Sightseeing again. This time the little shack had lights on, the sign wasn't in the window, and the door wasn't locked.

A black man lounging on a sofa with his feet on a wicker chair pulled his attention away from the television. "We're closed for the rest of the day," he said. It was hard not to notice the bottle of Jack in his hand.

"Isn't it a little early?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It's too late to head out. What do you need?"

He spoke with a British lilt. I made him for a native Caymanian. I approached and offered my hand, but he just nodded.

"You Captain Wallace?"

"That's me." He turned his head back to the TV. "You the fishing or snorkeling type?"

I pulled a second wicker chair in front of the flat screen and sat, causing him to frown. "I just need a few minutes of your time."

He reached around me with the remote and muted the TV, but made sure to show me he was annoyed.

"I heard you were friendly," I said.

He blinked at me.

"And talkative."

When he still didn't say anything, I decided the direct approach would be best.

"Look, Captain Wallace, I need to ask you about Stingray Tours. I don't want you to lie to me or brush me off. I don't want you to be scared. You're not in danger, and when you tell me what you know, I'm gonna stand up, walk out that door, and you'll never see me again."

Somewhere in the middle of my speech the man had stopped breathing. His eyes made like a frightened rabbit, and I knew immediately he could help me.

"What?" he asked, panicked. "I don't—"

I threw up my hand to stop him. "Captain, I'm serious about what I said. I already know the broad strokes. I know you captained tours for a husband and wife team. I know he killed himself and his wife several years back and the company went out of business. I also know that one of the company boats, the
Risky Proposition
, was stolen and used in a crime in Miami Beach."

Captain Wallace watched my lips to make sure he was hearing me right. "What crime?" he asked hesitantly.

"The murder of a man."

The man blinked then downed a couple fingers of whiskey. When the bottle again rested at his side, his eyes were glazed over. "Charles was no suicide," he said. "He and his wife were killed."

"By who?"

A nervous glance. "His boss."

"I thought Charles was the owner."

A wrinkle creased the captain's forehead. "You're not with the Royal Police, are you?"

The RCP, or Royal Cayman Police. Remember: British territory. "Do I look like I am?"

He shook his head and took another swig. "You don't see what this is? Charles owned the company, but he was in hock to drug dealers. I knew about it but didn't touch the stuff. Charles let me run the legitimate side of the business while he handled the paychecks under the table. Somehow, their partnership went south, and he was killed."

"What did he do? Transport drugs?"

"Among other things. You have to understand—that business requires a lot of coordination. People, properties, muscle. You need offices and storage space."

Suddenly I understood the value of Henry Hoover's Caribbean properties. "So drugs are moving through the Caymans."

"Sometimes, maybe, but it's mostly money. At least it used to be. Things changed around here, you know? You're American, aren't you? Your government took notice. A lot of the scams were choked out. You look up and down the street, and for every top-end sports car you see, there are ten people ready to steal it."

"You're saying business dried up?"

"I don't know," he answered, exasperated. "I got out of it a long time ago. I was never in it. That's not my life anymore. But those guys, they always find a way."

"What guys?" I asked firmly.

Captain Wallace hesitated and shook his head. "The drug dealers."

"Be more specific."

The man shivered. "They'll kill me. Just like they killed Charles and his wife. Just like whoever it was you told me about in Miami, and countless others. Why should I tell you anything?"

I stood up from the chair and leaned over him. "Because
I'm
the man that was murdered in Miami."

The captain's eyes froze and he stiffened, not doubting my words even for a second. "Hatch," he whispered.

I pulled back. "Connor Hatch?"

"Shh," he said. "Don't say that name out loud." He leaned to look out the front door to see if anyone could overhear. When he confirmed we were alone, he gave a quick nod.

It made sense. The properties scattered over the Caribbean and Central and South America. The clout with the Society. Even the ties to a corrupt Miami politician.

"Have you ever heard of the Covey? Kita Mariko? A scary Nigerian named Tunji Malu?"

Captain Wallace emphatically shook his head. "No. I never dealt with anybody."

"Tell me about Connor, then."

Liquid courage from the bottle helped him continue. "I don't know anything specific. Only stories. Only that if he knew we were speaking his name, he would have us both killed. This man... he's untouchable in these parts. He has a private army. His own island compound. He buys off governments and police. He's not just rich, he's fuck-you rich, and anything he desires he'll find a way to get. If you know what's good for you, you'll stop asking about him and leave this island."

My knees shook at the description. I chalked it up to still being weak from the midnight swim. Simon Feigelstock had told me Connor Hatch was a nobody, a booster. Only that was distantly far from the truth. Connor Hatch was Pablo fucking Escobar, and I was piggybacking off his room service.

A loud report outside made us both jump. I scrambled to the window. A man rode by on an ancient motorcycle, its mufflers periodically backfiring. I relaxed and cursed myself for getting so worked up. Stories will do that. When I turned around, Captain Wallace was holding a gun on me.

I lifted my hands slowly. "Put down the piece," I urged. "I wasn't lying about anything. I'm not here for you."

"Get out of here!" he cried. "Get as far away from me as you can!"

I could see the fear in his eyes, as if the boogeyman he'd been hiding from all these years might've finally found him. I couldn't blame his caution or his agitation. And frankly, the last thing I wanted to do was get him killed.

I eased out of his shack and backed up to my bike. Captain Wallace kept his gun on me without leaving the safety of the doorway.

"I don't want to see you again," he warned. "If I do, I'll pull the trigger. You won't even see it coming."

"I believe you," I said and started my bike. As I pulled away, my heart was beating a hundred times a minute. The drive back to George Town was a blur of events going through my head.

Connor Hatch was a drug kingpin. Another cocaine cowboy, buying his influence one country at a time. That explained the focus on real estate to move, ship, and store product. It explained the high-rolling accounts in the Caymans. It even explained the link to Rudi Alvarez. The Miami politician could buy favors and control the flow of product to the US. Hell, with the kind of resources and connections Captain Wallace mentioned, Connor could put a dent in all competition, making it look like the US was winning the war on drugs while ever more flowed into the country.

The Passport to Latin America was fucking right.

I hurried to the port and dropped my scooter off at the rental office. Between the mermaid encounter, being muscled by the Society, and uncovering a drug kingpin as my enemy, I was starting to feel like Miami would be a bit safer than the islands. At least there all I had to deal with was a personalized SWAT team with my name on it.

Carla waited for me on the dock even though we hadn't set an exact time. I stormed past her and onto the boat without a word. She got the hint and cast off as soon as possible.

"Find what you were looking for?" she asked after a time.

"I found a lot more than that."

She grunted as if she understood. And maybe she did. But she knew better than to ask details. We avoided eye contact, looking far ahead to the expansive sky. "There's a storm coming," she said matter-of-factly.

"I'm going below deck for a while," I said. She shrugged. Before I hit the steps, I turned back to her. "Carla, can you do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"Keep an eye out for mermaids."