Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) Read Free Page B

when the pit bull didn't move. "Good dog," I said.
    Around its neck was your standard tough-guy dog collar, black leather with spiked studs. I like dog trinkets. One can be a fetish in the proper hands. Fetishes with an emotional connection to the animist work best. I'd say hanging from a metal shelf and nearly pissing my pants was emotional enough. I carefully reached around the zombie's neck and unclasped it. As I did, the pit bull whisked its head around and gave my arm a lick. I drew away but the dog didn't move. It now stared mindlessly ahead. I shrugged and wrapped the collar twice around my right wrist like a bracelet. Cisco Suarez, master of improvisation.
    With the zombie neutralized, my next problem was the exit. I studied the door and wrapped my hands around the metal handle.
    In line with my jack-of-all-trades persona, I knew an artificer who had introduced me to metallurgy. I'm not very good at it. (In fact, I'm downright awful.) But I can weaken the structural integrity of base metals. It takes too much effort, I'm limited to small objects that are mostly breakable anyway, and my face knots up like I'm taking a dump when I do it. It's embarrassing and I don't like people watching when I work it, but the undead dog wasn't much of an audience.
    I grunted and squeezed and rocked back and forth, but I could feel it coming loose. The handle clunked to the ground and I smiled.
    Daylight.
    Without bothering to wipe or wash my wands, I burst through the door and ran toward Collins Avenue. The street was a slow current of passing corvettes and convertibles, one of which happened to be the jeep with the bad paint job. That was where the other two flunkies had gone. On my side of the street, a thin shadow ran along the storefronts. I backed into it to hide.
    Too late, of course. A hangover from hell, a step behind—I wasn't getting any breaks today. The passenger of the jeep jumped out twirling a machete in his hand.
    He was either out of ammo or he preferred to get up close and personal. Judging by the glee on his face, he had plenty of ammo.

 
     
    Chapter 4

     
     

    "You should be dead," growled the Haitian. He approached slowly, with confidence, and flashed a yellow smile. "Maybe we kill you again, yes?"

    The bokor was nowhere in sight. As I was on a main thoroughfare, it was only a matter of time before he spotted me. I needed to shelve this brawler quickly and quietly and get on my way. Instead of running, I remained in the shadow of the storefront and waited.
    In broad daylight on a packed street, the gangbanger wiped the rusty, two-foot blade on his grimy shirt and stepped onto the pink sidewalk. No attempt at subversion or secrecy. The Bone Saints must have had a real beef with me to risk this. Too bad I didn't remember a damn thing about it.
    "Tell me how to fix this," I urged as the man got closer. "Whatever it was you think I—"
    I didn't have time to finish the sentence. In a smooth stroke, the Haitian lifted the machete high. I crossed my left hand over my head, and the blade crashed down on my forearm.
    Right on top of that second Norse tattoo of protection.
    This one resembled an arrow. A straight line ran the length of my outer left forearm, with fettered sticks at my elbow and a sharp point on my wrist. In the center were three hardening runes, crosshatched lines cutting through the shaft. This was a shield as well, similar to a single branch of the snowflake on my hand but on a grander scale and distilled into its most powerful form. To make my third comic book reference of the day, it's like I had adamantium encasing the far side of my forearm.
    This didn't form visible energy like the palm sigil. It didn't extend away from my body. It was crap for bullets and projectiles, but this machete right here was its bread and butter. Once again, I instinctually knew how the tattoo worked, but it was muscle memory more than anything. I couldn't tell you where the ink came from or how I learned the spell.