Read Online Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) by Domino Finn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Domino Finn
Tags: Suspense, Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Crime Fiction, Vampires, Contemporary Fiction, Sword & Sorcery, Paranormal & Urban, Superhero, Thrillers & Suspense, Vigilante Justice
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present. I could tell immediately that most of the bodies had been magically preserved. All but one.
Martine rested awkwardly in the center of the cookhouse, her hips caught on the overturned wooden table that was the centerpiece of the workspace. Her shoulder braced against the floor, awash in red. It was a lot of blood, and easily explained: half the girl's neck was missing, like it had just been ripped out.
And Martine—she hadn't been a girl anymore. Ten years older, I reminded myself. Ten years different. I approached hesitantly, afraid to have this new image of her burned into my subconscious. But I needed to see.
I turned her head and grimaced. It was bad. Her mouth was frozen mid-scream. Her eyes were wide and vacant, literally: her eyeballs had been removed.
I turned away. This was done recently, as in hours ago. Her body hadn't started to visually decompose. Barely a smell. The other corpses were another story, but normal. A scene only familiar to a necromancer.
The bodies were Martine's minions. Zombies. And no huckster magic either. They would've been strong, which meant whatever ripped them apart was stronger.
This all but confirmed my suspicions about black magic being at the heart of this mess. Me, my family, Martine—it had gotten us all killed. And now my best lead was gone.
Gone but not forgotten. That's what people say, anyway. In this case, they were right, but I had my own saying. Fight necromancy with necromancy.
The missing eyes were a problem. Somebody had removed them for a reason: so people like me couldn't snoop. I kicked some body parts aside and scanned the floor. Objects were scattered about like Miami had its very first magnitude five. I searched the walls and corners. I picked up a large glass jar of dirt with holes in the lid, shook it up, and examined the contents. I would need it. In fact, the shed was filled with tributes, offerings to aid in black rituals. It would do me some good to stock up.
But first thing was first. I needed to find me some eyeballs.
I know that sounds gross. It is, in a way. But keep in mind, blood magic isn't inherently evil. Death is morbid, but necessary. Some cultures leave their dead out in plain sight and parade them through the streets. My art involves dead things, but that doesn't mean I seek or cause death. Are coroners feared for performing autopsies? No. They get a hit TV show called CSI. I'm a forensic investigator of sorts as well. I just use... alternate methods.
The barn door was shut tight. It budged and jiggled but didn't push open, which was strange because I didn't see anything physically preventing access. No matter. I phased under the door again and adjusted my eyes to the brightness outside.
The crow was still around, except now it was on the far fencepost. For a second I wondered if I was being watched, then the bird dropped to the ground and rustled its beak in the dirt, pecking for food.
I turned to the grass myself, checking for signs of blood, signs that the precious eyes were cast aside. I searched nearby bushes and the path to the street. On my way back, I set down the jar of dirt and checked the garbage cans. They were full and I didn't want to spend a lot of time so I flipped them over.
When I upturned the contents of the second, a large spider scattered from behind the can. I recoiled and let out a sissy yell, slamming my back against the chain-link fence. It was large and furry like a tarantula. Eew.
Yes, I don't bat an eye at dead bodies, but things with more than four legs gross me out .
After the waking nightmare scurried off, I inhaled deeply and regained my feet. Using my alligator boot, I continued searching through the trash. It was no use. Whoever had taken the eyes had probably flung them far aside, not placed them neatly in the garbage. Next to a murder rap, I doubt littering even registered.
I strode back to the shed, working my jaw, pondering how best to navigate this setback, when I noticed the crow
Martine rested awkwardly in the center of the cookhouse, her hips caught on the overturned wooden table that was the centerpiece of the workspace. Her shoulder braced against the floor, awash in red. It was a lot of blood, and easily explained: half the girl's neck was missing, like it had just been ripped out.
And Martine—she hadn't been a girl anymore. Ten years older, I reminded myself. Ten years different. I approached hesitantly, afraid to have this new image of her burned into my subconscious. But I needed to see.
I turned her head and grimaced. It was bad. Her mouth was frozen mid-scream. Her eyes were wide and vacant, literally: her eyeballs had been removed.
I turned away. This was done recently, as in hours ago. Her body hadn't started to visually decompose. Barely a smell. The other corpses were another story, but normal. A scene only familiar to a necromancer.
The bodies were Martine's minions. Zombies. And no huckster magic either. They would've been strong, which meant whatever ripped them apart was stronger.
This all but confirmed my suspicions about black magic being at the heart of this mess. Me, my family, Martine—it had gotten us all killed. And now my best lead was gone.
Gone but not forgotten. That's what people say, anyway. In this case, they were right, but I had my own saying. Fight necromancy with necromancy.
The missing eyes were a problem. Somebody had removed them for a reason: so people like me couldn't snoop. I kicked some body parts aside and scanned the floor. Objects were scattered about like Miami had its very first magnitude five. I searched the walls and corners. I picked up a large glass jar of dirt with holes in the lid, shook it up, and examined the contents. I would need it. In fact, the shed was filled with tributes, offerings to aid in black rituals. It would do me some good to stock up.
But first thing was first. I needed to find me some eyeballs.
I know that sounds gross. It is, in a way. But keep in mind, blood magic isn't inherently evil. Death is morbid, but necessary. Some cultures leave their dead out in plain sight and parade them through the streets. My art involves dead things, but that doesn't mean I seek or cause death. Are coroners feared for performing autopsies? No. They get a hit TV show called CSI. I'm a forensic investigator of sorts as well. I just use... alternate methods.
The barn door was shut tight. It budged and jiggled but didn't push open, which was strange because I didn't see anything physically preventing access. No matter. I phased under the door again and adjusted my eyes to the brightness outside.
The crow was still around, except now it was on the far fencepost. For a second I wondered if I was being watched, then the bird dropped to the ground and rustled its beak in the dirt, pecking for food.
I turned to the grass myself, checking for signs of blood, signs that the precious eyes were cast aside. I searched nearby bushes and the path to the street. On my way back, I set down the jar of dirt and checked the garbage cans. They were full and I didn't want to spend a lot of time so I flipped them over.
When I upturned the contents of the second, a large spider scattered from behind the can. I recoiled and let out a sissy yell, slamming my back against the chain-link fence. It was large and furry like a tarantula. Eew.
Yes, I don't bat an eye at dead bodies, but things with more than four legs gross me out .
After the waking nightmare scurried off, I inhaled deeply and regained my feet. Using my alligator boot, I continued searching through the trash. It was no use. Whoever had taken the eyes had probably flung them far aside, not placed them neatly in the garbage. Next to a murder rap, I doubt littering even registered.
I strode back to the shed, working my jaw, pondering how best to navigate this setback, when I noticed the crow
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