Chapter I: The Necromancer

My 73' Cadalac Eldorado convertible – stolen about three cities ago – pulls up in the parking space of some nameless Texas dive bar. The dark blue sedan I've been following since Dallas is parked neatly beside a bunch of angry looking motorcycles, complete with flame decals and chrome women. From four cars parked outside, red and blue lights still flashing with a large "Texas State Trooper" plastered on the side doors I can tell my "friend" has already started.

"Shit, I'm too late." I growled, shutting off the engine. I feel around my body, checking each piece of gear on me just to make sure I've got all my shit together.

Graveyard dirt smudged on my forehead, my belt buckle (an elaborate weave of braided iron strips), miscellaneous paper charms and my watch. An Illinois Sangamo Special from 1919, railroad grade. It keeps great time, but it's the most dangerous weapon in my arsenal.

I really hope I don't need it.

Next is my trusty knapsack; it's about as old as the Nintendo 64 and filled to the brim with everything a Necromancer like myself would need: knucklebones, the noose from the neck of a hanged murderer, goat's blood, a pouch of the graveyard dirt I had smudged on my head along with salt, ground bone and a bit of blood dried under a full moon. And last but not least, my more conventional weapons, my WWI U.S M1917 trench knife, complete with a built in knuckle duster on the handle and the 9mm Browning Hi-Power, custom made for the Nazi Einsatzgruppen, it even has Third Reich stamps here and there. I've seen a lot of evil things in this business, but this gun is just nasty. It's a murderer's gun, a sadist's gun, used to strike down countless innocents in hate. I don't like shooting it, heck I don't even like looking at it; pulling the trigger feels like cockroaches are crawling under my skin. But hell, in my hands, the thing has enough firepower to make a 50 Cal sniper look like a BB gun.

It's not as bad as the watch though, but sometimes the best tools are the ones that shouldn't exist in the first place.

I stick the gun in the holster at my back, but keep the knife in my hands as I step out of my car and head towards the bar.

Adolfo Constanzo is a real piece of work (and a piece of shit too depending on who you ask). Started learning Voodoo when he was a kid and moved to Mexico to start selling his "magic" to drug lords and hit men. In the 80's he started killing a shit ton of people for his Voodoo till his own followers shot him up cause he didn't wanna go to jail. And that's the end of his story.

At least until a month ago when his voodoo magic actually brought him back to life.

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"Hey El Padrino." I said. I stood at the doorway, looking over a grisly scene that would give Freddy Krueger nightmares. It took nearly all of my willpower to keep my lunch from spilling all over the floor. Don't get me wrong, I've seen a ridiculous amount of death, but even I have my limits.

The lucky ones died quickly, still in their seats but with their heads blown to bits all over the countertop. The others, particularly the Troopers, were the real horror show. I'm not going to go into all of the gory details, but to give you an idea: one guy was pinned to the far wall with the blades of a ceiling fan, chest cavities were opened to reveal empty cavities. Impaled on barstools, shredded by a million cuts from broken glass. One poor bastard was just a pair of legs; who knows what Constanzo did with the rest of him.

There are no ghosts anywhere. With this much carnage there's sure to be a shit ton of ghosts floating around. Constanzo's probably eaten them.

He looks like a malnourished forty-year-old white guy in clothes that went out of style twenty years ago. He had some remnants of a mullet hanging from his head and had on a pair of thin-rimmed glasses on his nose. But that's what he looked like on this side; over on the Underworld Side, where the dead sit and wait for whatever comes after, he's a chaotic mass of ghostly faces and screams. The Loa, voodoo spirits that made sure he still kept kicking pulsed underneath his skin like hot coals in a fireplace.

After Constanzo had resurrected himself, word spread that he was doing more of his massacre magic. The magic community wasn't really shocked at the revelation; cheating death isn't as hard as it seems. He'd been dicking around with the Loa in his 80's killing spree, unknowingly feeding on the ghosts of those he'd slaughtered. Of course nobody tried to put him back in the grave; I mean, who cares if you've come back after thirty plus years. But once the bodies started piling up, that's when they brought me in.

Magic is like fight club, first rule is you don't talk about it. If regular morons in the world knew what really goes on in their world, they'd shit bricks and then shove their way into our world.

"You are one persistent motherfucker Nico di Angelo. I thought I'd left you back in… where was it? San Diego?" He said, taking a swig of his Smirnoff.

"Los Angeles. Now put your hands where I can see them." I say, drawing my browning and aiming right at his head.

On the other side, I see the faces of the Loa flare up and the ghosts around him swirl faster. Seeing the other side layered onto ours is pretty useful, except for having to ask myself if what I'm looking at is real or not. But I've had my entire life to practice so I think I'm good.

Most witches and wizards are born with a specific talent. Elemental control, illusions, transformations, divination, some people have it, some people don't. I got dead things.

Go me.

"Now now, no need to be rash. I've actually been waiting for you." I raised my eyebrow at the statement, but kept my gun trained on him. "Once I killed enough people I was sure you'd feel it and come straight for me."

Wow, he is really overestimating my skills.

"I'm good Constanzo, but I'm not that good. I've got a scanner in the car and heard some chatter about a mass murder. I assumed you'd fucked off to Mexico by now." Constanzo looked disappointed, but his demeanor barely changed as he took another drink.

"You should just leave me be. Drop the whole 'holier than thou' bullshit and let one of your own live in peace. One necromancer to another." I cringed at the word. "Necromancer", it makes me think of Dungeons and Dragons; dark towers and evil wizards resurrecting skeletons and shit like that. I mean, sure I bleed the occasional black ram under a blood moon, but really? It's the 21st century, get with the program.

"Two things." I said, counting them down with my off hand. "One, you're technically dead so you've got no life to live. And two, I've kinda got a contract to make you rest in pieces so… yeah. Sorry."

"You really think you have a chance boy?" He asked, setting his vodka on the counter.

"Got you back in Los Angeles though." I remembered, he had been hiding out in some vacant luxury home, using it as a ritual/research space. I can understand why, the place was built on a nexus of magic that practically poured through the streets. Whoever built that place really knew what they were doing cause his spells had a bit more oomph.

I barely made it with all my limbs, but I got lucky. As he was throwing me around like a ragdoll, I saw a piece one of the Loa he'd trapped hanging out of him. With everything I had I threw a banishing spell at it, tore the poor bastard loose and sent it home. After that it was like unwrapping a Christmas gift, I started pulling out all the Loa as Constanzo's grip on them weakened. He escaped, but I definitely hurt him worse than he hurt me.

"Look, enough with the bullshit, this can either end with both of us walking out as friends, or me walking out with your corpse." Constanzo narrowed his eyes dangerously, but that only made me narrow my eyes as well.

"I'll take my chances."

With that, I unloaded a few rounds into Constanzo. I doubt they'd even tickle him considering the Loa were basically like steel under his skin, but this was just the appetizer. Constanzo channeled a huge purple fireball into his hands and flung it right at me. I vaulted over a pool table, narrowly avoiding a fiery death but I fucked up the landing and crashed hard into a few barstools. Constanzo took that chance to open fire with some guns he'd lifted from the Troopers. A bullet grazed my arm, but that's about all the hits he got off on me before I ducked behind a flipped over pool table and fired back. I heard the walls and floor splinter

Four shots. Ok, time to end this. I thought. I reached into my bag for the bag of dust I had talked about earlier. I dug up as much of it as I could hold and waited. I could hear Constanzo changing up another fireball to blast me to bits, so that's when I struck. Last time we met he'd tried the fireball shit, and this time I've prepared for it. I threw the fistful of powder in a wave between us, scattering them on as many of the corpses it could reach. The enchantment on the dust works wonders, as soon as he let it loose, the fireball fizzles out as soon as it passes the dust.

I jump out of cover, pop off two more shots; I need to make it look good. Constanzo's smart and stops with the fireballs, instead opting to levitate a table and throw it at me. I duck under it and shoot once more.

Seven shots. There's a sense of wounded pride every time I intentionally miss, but that's just background noise as I dive under another table. However Constanzo is waiting and the next thing I know his emaciated hand is wrapped around my throat. He's much stronger than he looks as he slammed me into the wall with ease. Now that he's got me, I'm praying to as many gods as I can that the spell I put in the dust works.

"You thought you could kill me with that little pop gun?" he says, squeezing my neck tighter. I'm barely able to reply, but I've still got one more wisecrack to give. I mutter something intelligible, and Constanzo loosens his grip on me so he could hear better.

"You got something to say?" I nod

"Surprise motherfucker."

I could see him tense as the barrel of my Browning presses against the side of his head.

It took about a week to scrounge up the things I needed to take him out and to make a plan that wouldn't get me killed. I had to be close enough to keep him distracted and get the drop on him, but I couldn't do it without some help. It was very polite of him to leave so many corpses lying around.

One of the headless bodies standing behind him, reanimated for about the next thirty seconds, pulls the trigger sending bullet number eight – made from silver and gold and engraved with the symbols of all the Loa families, blessed by the great Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte themselves – blasting through Constanzo's head. His body falls to the floor, green flame bursting from the hole in his head spreading to the rest of him. I quickly rip his hand off my throat to keep from being consumed with him. This time he's dying for real.

I could see a little piece of his soul on the Underworld side, looking more dumbfounded than anything. Then his expression changed to one of panic as the Loa he had trapped ripped their way free from his spirit. Soon he was nothing but a trail of smoke, the last vestige of his humanity barely even there as he fades into nothingness.

A little test chapter; put in your review if you wanna see more.