Blood Magic

CHAPTER ONE Have you ever had someone leave you a voice mail, but you didn’t want to call them back, so you ignored them for as long as you could, and then they fooled you into picking up the phone by calling from an unidentified number? That’s what detectives do when they really want to talk to you. “Mr. Broussard, it’s good to finally connect. I’m in the area and I was hoping you’d be available for a meeting.” Sheeeeet.... I stood at the old green rotary phone mounted on my kitchen wall. The caller ID next to it displayed UNKNOWN CALLER. I wouldn’t have normally answered, but my neighbor was supposed to be calling me from a pay phone so I could pick him up from work. I thought it was him. I tilted my head and angled the receiver to hear the detective better. From the quiet rush of white noise behind him, he was driving. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” I asked, stirring my cinnamon tea. I knew damn well who it was. “Damian Harris, STLPD, Paranormal Crimes Division,” the man said. “Ah, Mr. Harris,” I said, putting on my most convincing smile. “Sorry. I get a lot of telemarketers.” “You haven’t been home the last two times I stopped by,” he said flatly. “And your voice mail box is full.” “What can I do for you?” I asked. “It’s best that I speak to you in person,” he said. “Will you be home in about an hour?” he asked. A pit opened up in my stomach. I glanced at my watch and grimaced. It was four o’clock. That gave me enough time to pick up Ant’ny and pick up dinner. “I’ve got to run some errands,” I said, “but I should back by five.” Damian paused. “You should be back by five or you will be back by five?” “I’ll be here, Mr. Harris,” I said. “It would help me, though, to know—” “As I said, I can’t discuss it over the phone, Mr. Broussard. I’ll see you soon,” he said before hanging up. Call me paranoid, but I try to avoid police whenever possible. If you look at my life at the big picture, filter out my necromancy, a couple of unlucky speeding tickets, and a few library fines, I’m an upstanding citizen and I prefer to keep it that way. Plus, it’s not the best look in my neighborhood to be inviting police into your house. Right, wrong, or indifferent, many of us black folks are iffy with police. ‘Round here, if you get a little too cozy with them, people will think you’re a snitch. And you know what they say about snitches. Was I being irrational? Probably. Abundantly cautious? You better believe it. Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairwell into the kitchen. “Was that Ant Man?” a voice called. Bo, my undead servant, strode into the kitchen. At six feet tall with a bulky frame, Bo looked like he could throw you out of a window. He was my bodyguard. He liked the job, so I kept him around. Sometimes we fought like a married couple, but it was nice to have someone in the house after being alone for seven years. Today, he was wearing a bright purple tracksuit with a gold chain, pearl-white basketball shoes, and giant sunglasses. His bald head was polished to a high gloss, so shiny, it could have been an alternative light source. “You dressed to go out?” I asked. “Oh, this?” Bo asked, flipping up the collar of his tracksuit to show off. He twirled around and his nylon pants crinkled like paper. “Just a little something I picked up.” “With my money,” I said, sipping my tea and staring him down. A hot blast of cinnamon helped me relax a little. “You better tell Ant Man to hurry up,” Bo said. “The rec center has cards tonight. You in, boss man?” Nothing could keep me away from a good game of cards under normal circumstances. Along with tea, cards were my Kryptonite. Lately, me and Bo couldn’t stay away from the center. Over dozens of rounds, a few cheap cigars, and deep conversation, I played cards and trash-talked my fellow neighbors down to the bottom of the night until the first rays of sunshine broke through the clouds. We were a card-slamming, fast-talking, trash-talking crew, and with my card prowess, I always managed to skim a few dozen bucks out of their pockets, which I quickly repaid with liquor and future bets. I wouldn’t have minded a good game of Texas Hold ‘em tonight, enough to take the edge off. But I had a civic duty, apparently. “Can’t join you tonight,” I said. “I’ve got to talk to the police.” “What?” Bo asked, snapping his sunglasses off. “You chickened out, man. I told you not to answer that dude’s calls.” “I thought it was Ant’ny,” I said, shrugging. Bo straddled a chair at the kitchen table. “You done wimped out, Lester,” he said. “I can’t avoid them forever,” I said. “Are you in cuffs?” Bo asked. “From where I’m sittin’, they got nothin’ on you, man. You don’t gotta tell them jack.” The phone rang, and the receiver nearly shook off the hook. This time, the caller ID displayed an array of glitchy characters. “It’s probably that detective calling back,” Bo said, pointing his sunglasses at me. “You better not even think about picking it up.” My black and tan German Shepherd-Labrador mix, Hazel, trotted into the room, growling. Her ears were at attention. “What’s up, Hazel?” Bo asked. She barked at me. “Even Hazel agrees with me,” Bo said, hooking a finger at her. “Ain’t that right, Hazel? Tell him, girl!” “Quiet, Hazel,” I said. “Don’t do it,” Bo said. “Will you stop?” I asked, annoyed. Bo jumped up and pushed me aside. “If you’re gonna talk to the po-po, at least let me do it.” Bo hit the receiver with a fist and it flipped into his hand. “Wassup.” He looked at me as someone spoke to him, and his eyebrows raised. “Maybe this is the Broussard residence, maybe it’s not. Who’s asking? Uh-huh...all right...Hold? Y’all called me, and you’re putting me on hold? For who?” He pressed the receiver against his shoulder and wrinkled up his face. “Hey, was that detective a chick?” Hazel barked again. I knelt to calm her, but she skittered backward, avoiding my touch. “Detective Harris is a he, Bo.” Bo paused as if considering the comment. Then a voice spoke again and he slid the receiver to his ear. “Yap. Who’s this...excuse me? Naw, you better ask somebody who you talkin’ to…” Hazel ran to my kitchen window. She sprang to two feet, craning to see out, barking louder now. Must have been a squirrel. “Hazel, be quiet,” I said. Bo puffed. “How did you know my name? Oh? Is that right? Sheeeeet...” “Who the hell is it, Bo?” I asked. I grabbed Hazel by the collar, led her onto the porch, and shut the door. I glanced out the kitchen window, which faced the gangway between my and my neighbor’s houses. I didn’t see anything. “You got a lot of damn nerve,” Bo said. “If you think you can—naw, you better let me finish—Wait...what? Uh...well, all right.” Bo offered me the phone, frowning. “It definitely ain’t po-lice,” he said. I snatched the receiver and shot him a look full of daggers. “Who is this?” I asked sharply. “Here’s the deal,” a female voice said. “Your man-boy or whoever he is really ticked me off. Listen up, Lester.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was this...a little girl talking to me? She sounded twelve years old, max. “We have a little problem,” she said. “And if you don’t listen to me closely, it will turn into a big dilemma for you. Craaaaazy big.” “Who are you?” I asked. I still couldn’t believe a little girl was threatening me. “You just received a phone call from a detective at the Saint Louis Police Department, Paranormal Crimes Division,” she said, almost whispering. “A Mr. Damian Harris. He’s a real pain in the a*s, isn’t he?” “How did you know that?” “You’ve been out of the game a long time, Lester,” she said. “Everybody who’s somebody in the supernatural realm knows Damian Harris. It’s really unfortunate for me because he’s got a nose like a bloodhound, and he’s sniffing around in my business. All up in my Kool-Aid, you know? He can’t wait to start sniffing you.” “You didn’t answer my question,” I said. “How did you know that I spoke with the detective?” “I know everything,” she said. “Here’s the problem. You cannot talk to him. Got it?” “I can talk to whoever I want,” I said. “You’re lucky I’m still talking to you.” She clucked her tongue. “Do you know why he wants to talk to you? Probably not...I guess I shouldn’t tell you that you’re a person of interest.” I paused. “For what?” “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’ve been fooling around with corpses and demons,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “Bullshit!” she said, erupting in a roar. “Casino. Visgaroth! Liches! Frank Funeral Home! Undead servant! Jinn! Showdown at the Arch! You need any more proof that I’ve been watching you?” She had just rattled off a summary of my last adventure, which was supposed to be a secret. My phone beeped. Someone was calling my second line. The words PAY PHONE flashed on the caller ID. Crap. Hazel barked from the porch. “That Ant Man on line two?” Bo asked. I waved him away. “Terrible timing,” he muttered. “Meet me at the casino,” the girl said. “I’ll explain. I can help you. But if you meddle in my affairs tonight, you’re avocado toast, Lester.” She hung up.