Black Magic by Russell James Page B

needed. But if experience told him anything, and he had thousands of years of it, a little defense never hurt. When he was deep into the incantations, he had no time to man the gates against any do-gooder town folk. Ah, for the days when mercenary knights were a dime a dozen or brown-shirt storm troopers were free. Why in the Dark Ages, he could spin a whole village of peasants into loyal defenders. He’d need nothing so grand in Citrus Glade. By the time they sensed he was a danger, they would be too preoccupied saving their own lives. Lyle would not need a large quantity of minions, just high quality. The whapna of Shane Hudson had that dark powerful quality. The man now walking out the front door of Ferrer Motors had it as well.
    Vicente approached with a broad, fake smile that Lyle truly appreciated. He flashed back the same empty grin and stepped out of his car.
    They introduced themselves and shook hands. Lyle could feel that this was his man.
    “1975 El Dorado,” Vicente marveled as he eyed Lyle’s car. “That is one fine ride. Don’t get me wrong, technology has advanced since then, but for its time, wow. I can make you a great deal on trading it in.”
    Right to the high pressure, Lyle thought.
    “That newer Cadillac caught my eye,” Lyle said. He pointed at a glossy Escalade SUV with enormous chrome wheels.
    “You have great taste. This car is here for you and you alone. Low mileage, one owner. Decent on gas. A real head turner.”
    All lies. Centuries among mortal humans had enabled him to spot a lie the way a hawk spies a mouse in a wheat field. But the prevarications rolled off Vicente’s tongue with impressive conviction.  
    They walked over to the vehicle. Lyle feigned interest and ran a finger along the top of the fender.
    “I need to cut my inventory and I’m ready to make a deal today,” Vicente said. “I can take two thousand off this baby this afternoon to get it to move. I’ll also do right by you on your trade.” He offered Lyle less than half the El Dorado’s value. “I can even finance you right here at a competitive weekly rate.”
    “This will be a strictly cash deal,” Lyle said. “And I’ll need you to leave the title paperwork blank for me.”
    Vicente nudged Lyle in the ribs with his elbow. “Say no more. The taxman makes more than his fair share anyhow. I sell you the car and what you do with it then is none of my business.”  
    Lyle liked his ethics. But his whapna was too black, too rich to be sustained with mere cheating of customers. This business fronted something much more sinister. Trafficking illegals. Trafficking drugs. Prostitution. Perhaps all of the above. Whatever it was, it earned a place on Lyle’s team, whether he knew he signed up or not. Lyle clapped him on the shoulder.
    “That sounds interesting,” he said. “I’ll give it some thought.”
    As he pulled his hand away he pinched two hairs from the shoulder of Vicente’s shirt. Vicente did a poor job at masking the disappointment generated by his escaping pigeon.
    “Sure you don’t want to drive her? Is there anything else I can tell you about the car?”
    Lyle clenched the hairs in his palm. “I’ve got everything I need, thanks.”
    When he pulled away, he watched a faded red truck pull in behind him, a real rust bucket beater with Lake County tags. Vicente pounced on the new victim and steered him straight to the Escalade that moments ago had been the car for Lyle alone.
    Lyle slipped the two black hairs into an envelope with the two silver strands from Shane Hudson. He began to hum a song he learned as a boy, about excited hoplite soldiers approaching battlements on the eve of war.

Chapter Twenty-One
    Autumn returned to the Everglades, but to the next spot in her rotation, a few miles south of where she had been before. She pulled off CR 12 and through the rotting fence that had once enclosed acres of Apex sugar cane. She particularly liked this location. A flat patch of white concrete