Chapter 8
Locke
Locke stood at Isa’s back as they waited for the slow-moving cars to drive past. Once they caught a break, the two of them crossed over into the sprawling collection of single and multistoried buildings in the entertainment district.
The open patios were filled with patrons, and the warm night air carried music and voices.
He looked back to the sprawling lot where they’d parked.
“Your car will be fine,” Isa said without turning around.
“Not worried about the car.”
And he wasn’t. He’d picked a spot under one of the many lights.
Between that and the embedded security wards, anyone stupid enough to mess with his car would quickly learn it was a bad idea.
What made his neck itch was the seemingly casual group of three hanging around a tricked-out classic Impala and the way they were eying Isa.
They leaned against the hood, the two doors behind them open wide as a heavy beat pulsated from the interior.
They were young—mid-twenties at most—with a sketchy demeanor that had passersby giving them a wide berth.
Locke angled his position, and his movement snapped their attention to him, which was where he wanted it.
He stared them down, letting them see exactly who they were facing.
Their rough edges dissolved under his baleful stare, and it wasn’t long before they retreated, turning away with nervous chin jerks, hunched shoulders, and weak smiles.
“Really, Locke?” Isa chided.
He turned to see her looking up at him from where she stood at his side. “What?”
She shook her head but took his hand and crossed the street.
They hit the sidewalk, and Isa’s heels clicked over the pavers as she led him deeper into the plaza.
They passed the milling crowd outside the multiplex theater and the green space that held scattered seating arrangements under wide umbrellas.
Soaring palm trees joined the old-fashioned light posts and more modern heating lamps—currently not in use—along the wide pathways.
Despite it being a Sunday, businesses were busy.
The crowd was a mixed bag—families clustered by the theater while roving bands of teens moved in and out of bookstores and lively restaurants, leaving the clubs and breweries to the singles and couples dressed to impress.
Isa made a left between a rowdy restaurant and a bustling brewery, leading him farther into the complex.
They passed a partially filled escalator taking patrons to the upper levels and headed down a short passage that spilled into a circular patio dominated by two fountains.
Water danced under colored lights to music that was not too loud but was definitely there.
They followed the curving line of shops, galleries, and eateries before reaching a narrow staircase tucked in a shadowy alcove.
Inset lights illuminated the steps, but the closer those lights got to the top, the more the thick shadows seemed to swallow them.
And it wasn’t just the lights. The music and voices from the plaza became muffled as if covered by a heavy cloth, and something unsettling was in the air.
Locke felt like they were being watched.
Not a fan of being prey, he felt his magic surge forward as he eyed the crouching darkness above.
Scents grew sharper. His eyesight adjusted, bringing further definition to the varying shades of blackness, and his hearing gained an almost painful sensitivity.
A sixth sense warned of active magic nearby.
Locke tightened his grip on Isa’s hand, bringing her to a stop. “Isa—”
She looked back at him with a frown that disappeared quickly when she caught sight of his face. “We’re good, Locke.” She tugged on his hand. “Come on.”
Without letting her go, he moved up the stairs.
She waited until he was a step behind her then turned and headed up.
They reached the second-floor landing, and instead of going right to where a line of empty offices loomed, Isa made a sharp left.
She started up another set of stairs then came to a stop near a black plaque hanging next to a heavy iron gate and let Locke go.
Crowding her back, Locke studied the plaque, but there was nothing to see, just a dull-black surface that soaked up what little light surrounded it.
He peered into the concealing darkness beyond the gate, his magic stalking forward, intent on sniffing out any threat, only to draw back with a low warning growl.
There was nothing natural about that darkness.
Before he could stop her, Isa laid her hand on the plaque and muttered something.
A flare of magic sliced through the strange atmosphere.
It moved along her hand before disappearing.
A dull thunk echoed through the stifling quiet.
Isa reached for the gate’s handle, but Locke got there first, his hand closing over the thick metal. “I’ve got it.”
The handle was warm to the touch. He pulled hard, expecting to encounter resistance, but it swung open easily on silent hinges, leaving him unbalanced. Isa pressed a hand against his back, holding him steady, and matched his steps as they retreated to pull the gate open.
There was an odd shimmer to the shadows blanketing the opening that made Locke hesitate but not Isa.
She slid by him and moved through. Not wanting to lose sight of her, he stuck to her heels, crossing the threshold to the unknown.
The gate swung shut with a dull thunk. Like a pebble thrown into a still pool, waves rippled through the shimmer, and in their wake, light began to eat at the darkness closest to them.
Locke caught Isa by her waist and drew her back against his front as the illusion of an empty space began to crumble, revealing glimpses of another lit walkway hidden in the veil of darkness.
Isa shot him a look of impatience and worry over her shoulder as she batted at his restraining arm. “What?”
He shifted, forcing her back a step so he could take the lead. “Let me go first.”
She gave in with an aggrieved sigh but stayed at his back, hooking her fingers through one of his belt loops.
Uneasiness clawed at his spine as the shadows continued to fracture at a faster rate, revealing more of the wide, well-lit walkway and setting free muffled conversations.
“Illusion ward?”
“Yep. Keeps the unwanted out,” she said softly.
He gave the fracturing darkness another hard look then prowled forward slowly, following the retreating shadows, Isa matching him step for step.
They didn’t get far when the last inky vestiges faded to reveal a short line of patrons corralled by thick blue ropes strung between waist-high posts.
At the head was a young woman in a glittery formfitting dress, her hair a mix of gold and brown piled in a complicated twist meant to look casual.
Her long, bare legs were made even longer by needle-thin heels.
She worked a phone and an earpiece as she greeted each person.
At her side was a muscle-bound bouncer in a black suit, his hair shorn close to his skull and his face set in the don’t fuck with me lines adopted universally by bouncers everywhere.
He held his position in front of the entrance, clearly blocking it, his thick arms held in a deceptively informal pose as he scanned the incoming patrons.
As Locke and Isa moved into the light and out of the illusion’s hold, they got some curious looks from the waiting patrons.
The men taking in all that was Isa with an appreciative eye while the weight of female perusal hit Locke like an unwelcome touch.
But it was the bouncer’s stillness as he caught sight of Isa that left Locke on edge.
If Locke hadn’t been watching so closely, he would have missed it.
He wasn’t the only one who’d clocked it—Isa came in at his side and got close.
He curled his arm around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her exposed curves in an unmistakably possessive gesture.
They kept walking as he dipped his head down until his mouth was near her ear. “You know him?”
She turned that little bit into him, her lips curving into a small smile as if he’d said something privately amusing, but her eyes were dark with worry. “He goes by Carter. Don’t know if it’s a first or last name.”
Locke brought them to a stop a few feet from the end of the queue and angled his body so she was partially blocked from Carter’s view. Her hands came up to his shirt as she held on. He cupped her face and dropped his head until their foreheads touched. “He going to be a problem?”
Her tongue came out and touched her lips in an unusually nervous tell as her gold-flecked eyes searched his. “I don’t think so.”
“You good, or do we need to turn around?” He offered the out but was grateful when she didn’t take it.
“I’m good.”
Taking her at her word, he cupped the back of her head and pressed his lips to her forehead then moved aside so they could join the end of the line.
Carter followed their movement but continued his door duties.
As they stood there, quiet conversations floated around them, and Locke found himself absently stroking the warm, silky skin where Isa’s waist and hip met.
She leaned in deeper, one hand resting on his chest just above his heart as her familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla curled around him.
Despite her causal pose, he could feel the tension riding under her skin.