READ THIS FIRST

  Black Tar Souls is a mini-series in the Weird Florida world that runs in tandem with the events of the original novel series (Tales of Weird Florida).

  Readers who have not enjoyed that series may find this one hard to follow or incomplete.

  I highly recommend you read the Tales of Weird Florida novels before attempting Black Tar Souls.

  Thanks!

  Marty

  Praise for Martin Shannon

  “…it’s like Dean Koontz and Terry Pratchett had a baby with a Mission Impossible film…”

  Faera Lane, Science Fiction and Fantasy Illustrator

  …a breath of fresh air in the urban fantasy genre.

  Edison T. Crux - Author of The Enoc Tales

  Martin hits the weirdness that is Florida right on the nose. The magick is clever, the laughs are big, and these people are my neighbors.

  G. Michael Reynolds

  Sweetwater

  Black Tar Souls

  Martin Shannon

  Free Stories

  Pixies, Shades, and tribal Magick—having a baby is hard enough, but having a Magician’s baby is in a league all of its own…

  Sign up at www.martin-shannon.com to get “Danderous Delivery,” the Tales of Weird Florida short story only available to newsletter subscribers.

  Copyright © 2021 by Martin Shannon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents, are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, actual events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Cover Charge

  2. Verdict

  3. Choices

  4. Movr

  5. Tea and Tar

  6. Squeeze

  7. Anders Hand

  8. Plucked

  9. Judgement

  10. Overruled

  11. Nightlights

  12. Rising Tide

  13. Symbols And Shame

  14. Formless

  15. Friends and Enemies

  16. Confessions

  Thank you for reading

  Martin Shannon’s Weird Florida

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For Spammy

  1

  Cover Charge

  I swirled the ice around in the bottom of my mostly empty drink.

  "So, where did you say you were from again?"

  I hadn't.

  "Down south," I said, hoping that being vague would buy me a little more surveillance time.

  "You mean like Miami? I've got family in Kendall. Do you know that area?" The guy undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie. He had a lawyer vibe. I wasn't sure why I thought that, but I just did. It was easy to use lawyer types for cover, they did a lot of talking so I didn't have to.

  They gave me time to track the Damned.

  My name is Christine Sullivan, and I am the Anders Hand. Don't ask. I have no idea what that means, but I think it gives me a free pass to shoot the hell out of the dead.

  The legal eagle leaned in to flag down our bartender, and in doing so, gave me an opening to scan the crowd.

  She's got to be here...

  I'd been tracking this one for over a week and it was starting to get on my nerves. She was sneaky, cautious, and devilishly persistent.

  And she may not still be a she…

  That was one of the many frustrations when dealing with Black Eyes. They could be anyone. Adapt at shifting from person to person, they could escape in a crowd effortlessly, but there was always a give away, and for some reason, I could always see it. Whether it was the burning skin that flaked away like ash from a spent cigarette or the eyes. Tar-filled and without hope, they churned like twin pots of boiling evil.

  Black Eyes.

  My current prey had been the woman in pink. I still didn’t have a name for this one, as she hadn’t been much for telling me before.

  A vision of that young boy’s body and the dark weapon came flooding back.

  The Cleaving Line never misses.

  The gun’s bullet struck a kid and together they sent all of us to the Edge. To say I had a bone to pick with the lady in pink was putting it mildly.

  Where are you?

  The crowd danced to the pulsing beat. Bodies swayed in rhythm, while carefree hands swung in the air.

  If she was here, would she still be wearing that stripper’s body? She hadn’t shedded it yet, but that didn’t mean anything. The Damned were nothing if not maddening.

  "You want to dance?"

  "Huh?"

  My unknowing cover pressed in close enough for me to smell his alcohol-laden breath. "I said, do you want to dance?"

  "Maybe later." I picked up the refilled drink and pressed it against my lips. The sharp bite of cheap vodka tickled my tongue and burned my throat.

  The burning sensation brought back with it something else. Words that I’d said in those final moments at the Edge, words that I’d come to take to heart.

  Let the fires of Hell burn their own.

  I slammed the drink back down on the counter a little harder than I expected. I needed to pay attention, and whatever this vodka concoction was, it wasn't going to help me do that.

  My prey was here. She had to be. There were just too many of her favorite targets shuffling between the skirts. Too many rich men with questionable morals. It was a veritable field of dreams for the lady in pink.

  If you're so sure, then where is she?

  "So what do you do again?"

  I am the Arbiter of Destruction, you?

  "I write code for—"

  "No shit? You write apps? That is so awesome. I have this idea for an app. I mean, it’s more than an idea. I’ve fleshed it out and put together some pictures. I’ve got to show it to you. I think you’re going to love it. Everyone one else who has seen it has said it’s crazy no one else has made this yet."

  It took everything I had not to roll my eyes, but that didn't stop the gun from softly whispering from its spot tucked inside my jeans.

  I’m hungry...

  The Cleaving Line was always hungry. There wasn't enough blood and black tar in the world to satisfy it for long, but now was not the time to be swinging that weapon around. That was a lesson I’d learned the hard way. The gun stays put until I know I have a clean shot. I don’t care if the Cleaving Line never misses, that doesn’t mean I need to risk another incident.

  Somewhere behind the bar, water poured from a faucet and in an instant I was back in the tunnel, the little boy’s face staring down at me from the open half-pipe. He waved goodbye as the blood-red waters pulled me into the darkness.

  No. We aren’t going back there.

  I blinked away the Edge and its roaring fires and malevolent shadows, but they found their way back just the same. They hid in the corners of my memory, waiting to pounce at a moment’s notice and always when I least expected them.

  The Edge.

  The nightmarish place had found a permanent spot just outside my conscious mind and in doing so, had made sleep all but impossible.

  Just thinking about it squeezed at the black wound in my chest.

  I picked up the drink, but this time there was no ginger sip, this time I threw the whole thing back in one swallow.

  I just hoped the vodka was decent at blotting out the fires of Hell.

  "So what do you think? It's really cool, right?"

  "Uh, yeah," I said, suddenly realizing I hadn’t heard a thing he’d said.

  Mr. Lawyer pulled a pen out of his sport coat pocket and grabbed a cocktail napkin. "So here's what I'm thinking. When the user opens it up they'll be greeted by a..."

  The first hints of a nice buzz slipped in around my ears like a warm blanket. I frowned and held up the glass.

  What the hell did I order?

  I didn’t have to wait long before the bartender dropped off a fresh one.

  No matter. I’m not paying for them.

  My lawyer laid a cocktail napkin down covered with little rectangles. "Okay, so these are the buttons. I’m thinking we should do something different, you know, like round buttons. Can you do round buttons?"

  "Uh… sure."

  "Great!" He pulled a few more napkins off the stack and laid them out across the bar. "So after they click on the round buttons they’ll get taken to a spot where they can use some sliders to set up their preferences."

  I let his words melt away in the pleasant alcohol haze. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe tonight there would be no Black Eyes, maybe tonight I’d just be Christine?

  I pretended to pay attention to him and picked up one of the napkins, holding it up in the dim light and trying to wrap my head around whatever it was he was saying. People did this all the time when they discovered I knew how to code. All of a sudden, they became award-winning app designers and had all manner of amazing amazingness to show me.

  Still, you nev er know. This guy might have money, and I could really use a project to pay this month’s rent, and the Hobbes Chow.

  I set that napkin back on the bar, not exactly sure what he was going for, but then again I hadn’t been paying attention.

  "And then this would be the matches." No sooner had I set that napkin down, than a new one was shoved into my hand.

  He hesitated for a second and stared at my hand.

  The tattoos!

  I tried to pull it back, but Mr. Lawyer didn’t let me.

  "Wow, those are amazing. What do they mean?"

  I’m fucked?

  "Nothing."

  "Oh, come on." He leaned in to get a better look at the swirling symbols. "These have to mean something."

  I opened my mouth to say something smart, but stopped when movement in the mirror behind the bar caught my attention.

  The smoke machine and laser lights made it impossible to know for sure, but my target moved with a predator’s grace through the mismatch of gyrating bodies. Like a wolf among the sheep, she prowled the edges of the dance floor.

  Even if I couldn’t see her tar-black eyes yet, I knew she had them.

  The lady in pink was here.

  Gotcha.

  The Cleaving Line practically hummed against the small of my back. Like a jungle cat sharpening its claws, the gun was ready for action.

  The weapon wanted tar and who was I to deny it?

  "Oh man, they even glow!"

  I pulled my hand away and slipped off the stool. "Yeah, pretty cool, right?"

  "Totally."

  My target shifted in and out of the swelling mass of humanity.

  "I need to powder my nose. I’ll be right back."

  The legal eagle said something, but I wasn’t paying attention to him, not anymore.

  I was the arbiter of destruction, and I wasn’t above helping Hell burn its own.

  2

  Verdict

  My target slipped in and out of the crowd. She took turns swaying with the music, and picking out potential targets. Those black eyes forever shifting, she was on the prowl. I knew the signs.

  The Cleaving Line pulsed against my back.

  Patience...

  I'd learned my lesson since the strip club and my last attempted take down. There were too many people here, and I wasn't about to hit one of them.

  ‘The Cleaving Line never misses.’

  I shook the burning woman's words out of my head. The gun may not miss, but it wasn't great at coming to an agreement as to who we shoot.

  The weapon pulsed again, and before I knew it I had my fingers against the cool metal.

  Stop!

  It took more than a little concerted effort to pull my hand back and place it against the railing that penned in the dance floor.

  I hazarded a glance back at the bar. My cover still hadn't put it together and was busy chatting up the bartender.

  She was cute, maybe they'd hit it off?

  Might as well, he's not Hal.

  That thought stopped me cold. I'd missed our taco date, and hadn't gotten around to returning his last two calls, but I also hadn't been able to shake that mustache from my head.

  The Black Eyes switched gears and turned her attention to a wealthy looking patron. The guy she'd chosen had a few years on Hal, but didn't lack for the trappings of money. The fancy watch on his wrist and expensive gold necklace were like the tips of the wealth-berg, the rest of it must have been just below the surface.

  I'd spent weeks finding and destroying these black tar souls, but it wasn't till recently that I'd started to admire their tactics.

  Admire?

  I tried to push that word away but it didn't want to leave. What was there to admire? They were vile, cruel, and cunning.

  "Efficiency," the gun whispered in the dark recesses of my mind.

  The Damned were the top of the food chain and they knew it.

  "Take me up, Christine..."

  I pulled my hand away from the weapon a second time, the tiny symbols on my fingers glowing enough now to draw more than a little in the way of unwanted attention.

  I tucked the light show under my top and watched as the burnt and ashen soul led her victim off the floor.

  Where are you going?

  Waitresses and drinkers crowded in and made it difficult to follow the pair.

  I hadn't gone more than a few feet before the pressure of tightly packed bodies brought me back to the bistro, and to that night.

  I could still see Meghan's eyes, and the tar that dripped down her cheeks. The guilt of it burned in my chest, and sent the black wound throbbing again.

  I squeezed a hand against the spiraling sore beneath my concealing top and grimaced at the pain. Ever since I'd been to the Edge it had gotten worse. With each breath I took, I could feel it burrowing deeper. Those dark tendrils were searching for something, and I really wasn't interested in knowing what it was, or what they would do when they found it.

  Two nights ago, in a fit of agony, I'd pointed the Cleaving Line at my chest and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing had happened.

  The oozing darkness wasn't going to go away that easily.

  My target popped up again at the edge of the bar before slipping down a narrow hallway with her victim in tow.

  There you are.

  I shook off the pain, and the thoughts of my friend, then let my glowing hand press against the hungry weapon.

  It didn't whisper this time. We both knew what the other wanted, and this time it was the same thing.

  I pushed through the crowd, perhaps without the same predatory grace the Damned possess, but with the same determination.

  The Cleaving Line pulsed beneath my fingers, but I didn't dare pull it out.

  Not yet.

  The gun moaned in frustration.

  Be patient.

  It didn't appear the weapon had much in the way of experience with that concept.

  I reached the edge of the room and let my fingers wrap around the gun's hot metal.

  It's time.

  "Hey, there you are."

  A hand grabbed my arm and I swung around, the gun coming out before I realized it. Thankfully my cover didn't see it in the smoky haze.

  "Did you want to dance?"

  I pushed the weapon back in my pants before he could notice it, but that only sent the Cleaving Line into a tizzy.

  "No!" I echoed the gun's frustration.

  "Oh, sorry. That's cool. I just was talking to the bartender and she—"

  "Good. Go talk to her some more." I frowned and tried to get a bead on the suddenly missing lady in pink.

  "But I thought we’d—"

  The gun squirmed against my skin. "You thought wrong."

  Part of me hated to do it to him. He wasn't a bad guy.

  He's no Hal.

  I shook those stupid words out of my head with a little more frustration than I expected.

  Movement down a narrow hall caught my attention. Ash and soot from a burning soul slipped around the corner, a lot more of that cracked flesh showing than before.

  Gotcha.

  I could tell my cover wanted to say something else, but I didn't give him the time. I put a hand back on the Cleaving Line and pushed down the pain swelling in my chest, leaving my cover, and the trappings of a normal life lost in the smoky haze and laser light.

  "You like that?"

  I hadn't made it a few yards before their voices reached my ears.

  "Yeah."

  "I bet you do. I bet you like it a lot. I'm better than your wife."

  "Oh yeah."

  Before I realized it, the Cleaving Line was in my hand. The weapon was not going to be denied the opportunity again.

  My finger popped the safety off. The faint glow of those inked digits cast strange patterns on the walls.

  Don't miss.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8