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

scared me more than the alternative.
    I smiled at my dark-red alligator boots, wondering if they were a joke from the devil. Then I pulled the knife from the waist of my jeans.
    It was a bronzed little thing with runes etched along the blade. A slight curve to the edge and an opposite curve in the decorated handle. Nothing I recognized, and nothing powerful from what I could tell. It was probably a keepsake more than anything. Something used by a necromancer in ceremonies. Something that someone might want back.
    I shrugged and leaned over the sink, grabbing a handful of hair and raking the knife as close to my scalp as possible. The bokor had kept a good edge on the blade. It cut through my mane so well that I had a familiar crew cut in no time.
    I drew a hot bath. No showers here. I'd been dead—I deserved the hot spa treatment. I steamed up that room real good. While I waited, the sharp knife served as a straight razor and left my chin and neck real smooth. I soaped and soaked. I even nodded off for a few minutes there.
    Somewhere in that luxury, I got to thinking about my situation. A lot needed figuring out. The Bone Saints had killed me. I didn't know why. Someone had resurrected me, and I really didn't know why (much less who or how). And then there were the tattoos and the fact that bullets had bounced off my skin. I didn't know how I'd managed that, but it sure was new to me.
    There are various pursuits of spellcraft. Offense is a common example, but there are many more. Some animists care more about seeking knowledge. Others, utility. But protection is something every animist covets. It's a biological imperative. It's what makes us durable.
    Imagine having all this power but no defensive magic. The secrets of the universe are helpless against a large fellow with a baseball bat. So aside from some purist specialists, every animist learns some secondary protection. How far you wanna go with that is up to you. Do you want to stop knives? Bullets? Bombs?
    That's the part that depends on practice.
    Shadow isn't the most potent force out there, but it's hella good at defense. But hardiness against bullets without conscious effort? New to me.
    I wondered if it had to do with the dark energies in my aura. The thought sickened my stomach. I drained the black water from the tub, dried off, and wrapped myself in a towel. When I wiped the condensation from the mirror, I introduced myself to the new, clean-shaven Cisco Suarez.
    It was me. But it wasn't.
    I looked different. It wasn't just the extra mass on my frame. My face was weathered. Older, if that was possible. I definitely didn't look twenty-four anymore. It might be an oxymoron, but death had really aged me.
    I dressed myself in the only stinking clothes I had, wondering exactly how long I'd been dead. That's when the real-life considerations hit me. The social ramifications.
    What did my family know? What did they think when I never came home one day?
    (So what? I still lived with my mom and dad and little sister. Sue me.)
    But darker questions came to mind. For instance: if someone wanted to kill me, was my family in danger as well?
    I needed to warn them. I needed to protect them.
    Rest time over, I marched from the bathroom with a mission. And that's when I saw the drunk couple having sex on the floor by the door.
    Jeez, they hadn't even made it to the bed.
    The girl screamed when she noticed me and rolled off her partner. The guy stood up and, to his credit, put himself between me and the girl before vanity took over.
    "Who are you?" he demanded, grabbing a teddy bear from a shelf and holding it over his privates.
    "What are you doing here?" I returned, stumbling to form an excuse.
    "Me? What are you doing here? This is my room!" He turned around. "Brenda, go get security."
    She was hunched into a corner, clutching her shorn clothes over her body. "I'm kinda naked right now."
    "Oh, right."
    I threw my hands up and looked away in my best gentleman impersonation.