Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis Read Free

operation any more. You’re dead.” She pointed at his wound.
    Dorian’s eye appeared through it from behind. “That guy had some heavy artillery, maybe a .50-cal.”
    “Dead?” DEA Agent Fowler stuck a finger into his chest. “I can’t be dead, I’m still here.”
    “Trust me, pal. You’re as dead as I am,” said Dorian, wandering around front. “Fowler, was this Gonsalves guy known to use a large weapon?”
    “Yeah, the tool had a Desert Eagle. He loves his action movies. He’s got it all nickeled up with mother-of-pearl grips, too, real pimp.”
    Dorian chuckled. “If memory serves, that’s a .50-caliber. They don’t even manufacture those types of weapons anymore.”
    “You’ve been dead probably two or three hundred years.” Kirsten waved her arm through him. “See?”
    Fowler stumbled to the side, falling seated on the steps with a look of utter disappointment. He remained quiet for a minute or two, then deflated. “I guess that’s why backup hasn’t shown up. It did kind of feel like they were taking their sweet damn time.”
    “What happened here?” Dorian paced the line of executed men.
    “We got a tip this house was being used as a relay point for the cartels to ship product into the States. Eduardo Gonsalves, a real piece of work. He went by the street name of El Santo de Sangre. We’d been giving them a big headache down south so they tried to do an end run on moose back.”
    Kirsten glanced at the walls. “Guess he lived up to his name. Fowler, you don’t have to stay here. I was wrong about the time; if you remember the US, then you’ve been dead about four hundred years. There’s nothing else you can do.”
    “He won’t let us leave,” one of the executed men wailed, in Spanish.
    “Who won’t?” Kirsten went over to them, switching to Spanish as well.
    A few seemed shocked she could see them.
    “The Blood Saint, he thinks we ratted him,” said another man.
    “It was his daughter, Naida. He couldn’t believe it, so he killed all of us trying to find the traitor.”
    “Yeah.” Fowler wandered over, speaking English, though apparently able to understand them. “Local police got a tip from a little girl, said her daddy did bad things. We came in on a joint operation with them, found a few million worth of coke down here.”
    Dorian and Kirsten exchanged a look.
    “That’s a lot of soda.” Kirsten shook her head.
    Fowler blinked at her. “Guess it’s true what they say about blondes, eh?” He elbowed Dorian with a conspiratorial wink. “Cocaine.”
    “The hell is cocaine?” asked Kirsten.
    “It was a plant derivative narcotic; closest modern equivalent would be Zone4.” Dorian gestured at the executed men. “The wraith is drawing power from them. I can feel him trying to snare me, too.”
    Kirsten closed her eyes, calling out.
    Dorian nudged her. “You’re wasting your time.
They
can’t get in here. Gonsalves, or what’s left of him, is too strong. Why do you think these poor idiots are still stuck here? Cartel soldiers? The Harbingers would have been all over them within minutes of their death. Something’s keeping them out and this doesn’t strike me as holy ground.”
    “We drag them outside, then?”
    Dorian eyed the row of dead men. “Gonsalves is binding them here. I doubt we’d be able to get them out the door.”
    A sense of pervasive dread filtered through the wall. All the men stopped muttering. Fowler turned paler. All eyes went to a shadow creeping by the casement window.
    Dorian lost his joviality. “Guess they’re still listening to you.”
    She exhaled. “Yeah…”
    “What was that thing?” Fowler pointed at the window.
    “You were DEA?” Dorian chuckled. “Just someone who wants to have a word with you.”
    Fowler looked confused.
    Kirsten bit her lip. “Right, so, if we can’t drag them outside…”
Damn, he’s gonna be strong.
    “You could always destroy them.” Dorian folded his arms. “It would weaken the wraith,