Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) Read Free

hailstorm of dust.
    I wasn't fully ethereal. Not really. Shadows are all about blurring the lines between dark and light, between the known and unknown. I was still there, only I wasn't, and I watched as the Haitians emptied their magazines in frustration.
    I couldn't stay like this long. While physical attacks would prove useless, the bokor was coming up at the rear, chanting in response. Against magic, my fortified position was a straw house.
    I slipped forward and solidified, smiling as the gang reloaded. It was the perfect chance for a counterattack, but I was still reeling from the gut shot (and whatever had left me half dead in the dumpster). I snatched the bokor's knife and strategically bolted for the other end of the alley.
    Before I got there, more gunfire came my way. The shield held strong. Well, except for the one bullet low enough to graze my thigh, but who's keeping score? I tumbled to the cement as the barrage whizzed over my head. Rolling over, I lay low and parallel with the alley, like a surfer paddling on his board. With my shield up, the position provided full cover. The energy at my palm didn't feel as strong as it should have, but it held as another round of mags was spent.
    My leg complained about getting tagged, though. That's the weakness of my patchwork Norse protection. No one ever asks how Captain America blocks incoming bullets with his relatively small shield, but trust me, it's difficult.
    The Bone Saints began approaching but the bokor called them off. I squinted and watched him step aside. My eyes followed his to his feet.
    A snarling pit bull raced from behind him and headed straight for me. To him I must've looked like a giant ham hock. I scrambled to my feet and burst out to the next street like nobody's business.
    This road was much less busy than Washington. I easily avoided the one car in my way while crossing the street. I had a decent head start on the Haitians, but that dog was quickly gaining on me. Who sics dogs on animists anyhow?
    I cut into a small produce market. The glass door jangled against the chimes and closed with a satisfying click. I turned and took a breath as the pit bull silently reached the sidewalk and stopped short of crashing into the glass. I plucked a mango from a box for defense but I didn't throw it. The dog didn't come inside. It didn't bark. It just stared at me with cold, dead eyes.
    Oh wait. I got it suddenly. A bokor? Siccing a dog on another practitioner? I may be slow but I ain't stupid. This was no normal attack dog.
    It was a zombie pit bull.

 
     
    Chapter 3

     
     

    On the plus side, the dog wasn't thrashing around and causing a scene. It barely looked dead, really. Bloody, matted fur. Glazed over eyes. Half an ear. It easily passed for a neglected ghetto dog. It stood still, like a pointer, and that's what it was doing. The necromancer controlling the zombie knew exactly where it was, and in turn, me.

    That didn't give me a lot of time to think. I'd wanted to keep things low key, but that was pretty much out the window when he cut the zombie dog loose. My best bet was to try a bit of necromancy myself.
    I calmed my mind, visualizing the connection between master and thrall. The Baron was the primary Haitian loa, the one I was familiar with. Unfortunately, the bokor channeled a different patron. Besides that, the connection was stronger than I expected from a low-level banger. I couldn't sever it, but I did my best to cloud the energy, to make it difficult for its master to home in on us.
    Busy with exploring the dark energy around the dog, I didn't notice the little old lady inching her walker towards the glass door. She admired the hound with a beaming face. " Ay, que lindo, " she squealed.
    Right before opening the front door and trying to pet the thing.
    With a vicious snarl, the pit bull bowled past the woman. She clutched her walker for support and barely avoided falling and turning into a spokesperson for a medical alert commercial.
    The