Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

nobody can be everything, we're all guilty of pushing away new ideas.
    Like an astronomer arguing with an astrologist, people will fight to the death over their perspective. Think of the scattered opinions on religion, race, sex, and identity—just in the United States alone. Then add all the other countries and cultures in the world. Consider then that the present is a single point and place in time, and you'll concede there are many more outlooks than your own.
    That, my friends, is magic in a nutshell. A complex interweaving of subjects and understanding. Something entirely different depending on who you ask.
    Is that my view? Sure. Like I said. It depends on who you ask, and you asked me. So even though I'm falling victim to the same frailty I just explained, I still say resurrection magic is impossible.
    Yet here I was. Living proof.
    Enough reflection. When I think too much, I contradict myself. If I kept at it, I'd find myself in a full-fledged argument.
    The phone in my pocket rang.
    The relaxation I'd worked so hard to find bolted. I pulled a solid Nokia candy-bar phone from my pocket and answered. "Go." I saw someone say that in a seventies cop show once and thought it was cool.
    No one said anything. I waited a moment before asking who it was. No one spoke, but I swore I heard someone breathing.

 
     
    Chapter 6

     
     

    I ended the call and checked the screen for the number. Blocked. I frowned and wondered who would call a dead man.

    That wasn't my phone. Like the tattoos, I didn't remember getting it. Maybe I really had died. It would explain not recalling anything in the hours and days before the dumpster. I couldn't tell you a thing about that time. It was gone. I had no memory of that stuff whatsoever, and maybe I never would.
    The long-term stuff—who I was, my friends and family, my talents—I could remember all that. I even benefited from residual muscle memory in some cases, as with the Norse shields. That gave me hope the information I needed was somewhere inside my head.
    I checked the rest of my pockets. Besides the bokor's knife in my waistband, all I came up with was the stolen wallet. Cisco Suarez, a regular pickpocket. I apologized to Richard Greene of 3032 Temecula Street as I thumbed through his ID and the other contents. I took the bundle of cash. Ninety-two bucks. The bills looked different, like the Fed had just minted a new, high-tech design. As long as it spent, it was good with me. I kept the cash in a front pocket and stuffed the wallet in the back.
    I stood on shaky feet that weren't ready to support my weight yet. I sighed, trudged to the bathroom, and closed the door. It was safe in here to flip on the bright light without being visible from the windows. I ignored the Italian marble countertop and the brass fixtures and all the other mind-numbing amenities. A couple of days ago, I would've felt like a king. Today I realized it was all bullshit. Living mattered, not possessions, not stuff.
    I rubbed my eyes and focused on the wall-spanning mirror. The car window had been kind to me. I was a mess.
    Besides the sexy new muscles, there was nothing else to cheer about. My hair was tangled and knotted, almost to the point of dreads. My chin and neck were covered in a coarse beard. Besides the expected dirt on my skin and clothes, my tank top was flaking dried blood. Probably mine, if what that Haitian had said was true.
    I pulled the shirt off and considered my new pecs. The resurrection magic had been good to me, but I'd still been to hell and back. Literally. A large purple bruise covered my heart, which explained the stiffness. Luckily, it was just a bruise.
    I checked my lower belly. I could still feel where the bullet had tagged me, but there was no wound. My stomach ached from the hit and a red mark was spreading, but nothing had penetrated. The same with the graze on my thigh. The jeans sported a horizontal tear and there was a burn on my skin, but no blood.
    In a way, that