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I pulled away and licked my lips. "He wants to live," I announced to the room. "And a deal's a deal."
I watched him and waited for it. That glimmer of hope to return. That twinkle in the eye. I waited and when I saw it, I ground it to dust: "I won't be killing you, because I've already promised you to the Anansi."
I stepped away from the man. Backward. Watched the fear dawn on his face. He spun on the tight wire holding him up. Laser focus on the darkest corner of the room. The thing I'd been talking to.
"Don't worry." I backed away farther. "He won't kill you immediately. Just chew on you a little."
Marco spun to the other corner, then wildly to me again, kicking over the candle by mistake. The fire flickered in the dark, lighting us with a menacing sway.
"His venom is very different from mine," I continued. "It will liquefy your insides. Make a good soup out of your bones and organs. Then he'll drink you in over the course of days until you're nothing more than a dried husk."
The man swiveled around, taking in all of the attic, trying to keep whatever was in the darkness at bay. He pulled frantically at the invisible line ensnaring his wrists. It bit into his flesh, threatening to slice the skin off like a glove.
But there was nothing in the room to see. Just him and the candle and me, leaning against the open doorway on my way out.
He forced a nervous chuckle. "Oh, damn, you're kidding. Right? Please tell me you're kidding."
I disappeared into the shadow. "Delusion," I said. "He thinks we're kidding."
A chittering sound above the man snapped his head upward. Eight bulbous eyes of uneven size reflected his screaming face back at him. A tarantula larger than his head crept down the translucent spiderweb binding his arms. When the first furry appendage brushed his skin, Marco recoiled, nearly severing his hand.
It was too late for that.
The trickster spider lunged onto the man's head, extending spindly appendages. Fangs swung open like switchblades and sunk deep into soft flesh.
My boots stomped down the creaky attic steps, a sound overpowered by the man's terrified howls. A moment ago, his worst fear had been the curved blades in my hand. Now he realized those would've been a mercy.
"You sure about this, Tunji?"
My eyes narrowed as I studied the dock. It was bright tonight. Biscayne Bay reflected the full moon. That complicated things a bit. The two armed mercenaries outside the boat complicated things a hand more.
Jaja and Pim huddled at my side. They were West African, like myself. Only human, of course, but they were both capable. Obeah men. Not the voodoo charlatans of Haiti who worship Christian idols in the names of their gods. Obeah men were true spiritualists. Respectful of the land and the ways of the Old World.
"You afraid of automatic weapons, Jaja?" I asked.
He snickered and adjusted his feathered top hat. It was a concession to the New World. His only one. The rest of Jaja was rough and drab. A brown leather
vest over a midnight-black chest. Strong in a lean kind of way. Capable without being showy.
"I don't like boats," was all he said in reply.
I smiled. The salt water would interfere with their spellcraft. But the boat, I reminded myself, wasn't the destination. Just the means to it.
We were ready for war. As such, I had my full battle dress on. Metal breast-and shoulder-plates. My blades. Even my boots were metal, with long shin guards that ran up to my knees and ended in sharp protruding spikes.
"Do your thing," I commanded.
Jaja lifted a wooden figure to his lips. A one-legged idol. His spellcraft fetish. He kissed it and spoke a word of Igbo, his mother tongue. The air surrounding us grew unusually muggy, even for Miami. It crossed the grassy clearing on an unnatural breeze and hit the dock with a gentle roll. The two gunmen trembled.
"They are weak," I observed with satisfaction.
The gunmen looked around and traded sharp words. Then they gave each other hard stares. A curse. Another. A shove. Within half a minute they were in a heated argument.
I nodded for Jaja and Pim to go. They skittered along the sidewalk in a half crouch before starting down the marina driveway.
I stood from behind the bush, vaulted over it, and made a steady gait for the boat. It was a straight line, right over the public lawn, trampling the flowers in manicured pockets of dirt.
The arguing guards spun at the sounds of laughter to find Jaja and Pim stumbling drunkenly, leaning on each other for support, booming voices carefree in the wind. The spellcraft had distracted the guards enough for the obeah men to get halfway down the driveway. Now that they were noticed, the gunmen straightened up and addressed the problem.
