Chapter 12
Locke
Locke braced as dark tendrils slithered from Isa’s feet and coiled around the tarp-wrapped body like some grisly phantom anaconda, carrying hints of ash and smoke.
His magic, cautiously curious, settled in to watch her work.
A chill entered the air. He could scent it under the other smell, like a storm on the horizon, and his skin prickled under the ghostly touch but remained warm.
His attention shifted away from the body lying between him and the woman standing, still and distant, on the other side.
The weirdly skeletal mask was back, complete with the unsettling ink slithering over her eyes, swallowing the hints of gold and brown.
Yep, the Reaper was back behind the wheel.
“Name.” The demand was followed by a disjointed head tilt as her attention narrowed in on something he couldn’t see. “What happened?”
Even though he knew better, he waited for the dead to talk, but there was only an eerie silence filled with writhing shadows. Then, in a disconcerting voice that was deeper and colder than anything he’d ever heard from Isa, she asked again, “What happened?”
Worried her impromptu interrogation would gain them unwanted attention, he used his magic to etch a set of sigils on the metal wall behind him. The privacy ward flared to life, trapping sound and movement within the confines of the walk-in freezer.
“An email? Really?” she asked. The amount of disdain packed into those three words made him curious. So did her curt follow-up of “Lie.”
He wasn’t ready for the temperature to go from uncomfortably chilly to painfully icy in heartbeat or for those smoky shadows to shift into rough black chains as a ghostly, high-pitched scream rode the edge of his hearing.
Holy shit—Isa is pissed. Clearly, whatever the kid was saying was not going over well.
Locke’s magic snapped its teeth, but he’d already heard it—the sound of footsteps, faint but coming closer.
He left Isa to handle whatever the hell it was she was doing and slipped out of the walk-in unit, easing the door almost closed, ensuring Isa’s magic didn’t venture outside the confines of the walk-in.
With one ear on the approaching footsteps, he moved quickly through the kitchen, skimming the available supplies until he found what he needed.
He grabbed an oversized container of pink salt, a small spool of twine, and a squat jar that held what looked like dried flowers then headed back to the freezer.
Thanks to the privacy ward, he couldn’t hear what was going down in the walk-in, but he hoped there was enough of Isa inside death’s little helper to understand that time was not on their side.
With the footsteps drawing close, he quickly reinforced the twine with his magic then strung it just above the floor across the narrow gap of the not-quite-closed door.
With a couple of creative sigils laid in salt then covered by a layer of dried flowers and a strand of Isa’s hair that had been caught in his shirt button, his trap was set.
Anyone—other than Isa—coming through the freezer door would get an unwelcome surprise, and Isa wouldn’t be caught off guard.
It had to be enough. He shoved his lingering worry into a corner and settled in for the hunt.
As much as he wanted to meet the incoming threat head-on, that wasn’t a viable option.
Defense would be his best offense. There weren’t many places to hide in the exposed space, but he needed only one.
He slipped into the shadowy middle unit untouched by the glow of the kitchen lanterns.
With his back to the wall just beside the opening, he worked a small, lethal blade from its sheath behind his belt buckle and let his magic off the leash.
It curled around him, blending his presence with the surrounding shadows until Locke all but disappeared.
A creak of hinges was followed by a soft thump as the swinging door met the wall behind it.
“I’m checking it now.” Footsteps moved heavily into the kitchen then stopped.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here.” There was a pause then an irritated, “Yeah, yeah, I’m checking,” followed by a muttered, “Asshole.”
The man moved farther into the kitchen, and Locke waited patiently, letting his prey come to him.
He didn’t need the vibrations of the heavy tread that ran through the cement to track the other man’s course, because his presence rode the air like an annoying insect.
Anticipation zinged through Locke, but his breathing remained steady and his mind clear as he considered his choices.
Locke could take the man out before he found Isa and alert whoever was on the other end of the conversation, or he could give the man something else to chase.
Going with option one, he began manipulating the air inside his walk-in freezer, thinning it just inside the door.
He wrapped an air current around a discarded piece of cardboard, ready to use it to lure the bouncer inside.
From his position, Locke could make out the solidly built security guard as his shadow darkened the doorway.
The guard jerked to a stop, put a hand to his ear, and bit out, “What? When?” Whatever response squawked in his ear had him spinning on his heel and running back the way he’d come. “Yeah, I’m heading in now.” The man hit the swinging door, sending it screeching in protest.
Locke released his magic and waited while the man’s footsteps pounded away.
The sense of impending danger retreated, and only when the air seemed to calm did Locke drop the concealment spell and head over to retrieve Isa.
He disabled his earlier trap, pulled the door opened, and came face-to-face with Isa, who was staring toward where the bouncer had disappeared with a detached curiosity that was unsettling.
That strange, flat absence of scent was back too.
“Who was that?” she asked, her voice low.
He managed not to flinch as the thin line of her normal hazel slowly replaced the unnatural black. That physical manifestation of her magic, along with her bland tone, set his metaphoric fur on end.
“Security.”
She stepped out of the freezer. “Is that what they’re calling it. Guess Angel’s still cheaping out on the important things.”
“Maybe, but something’s up, so we need to get out of here.” He grabbed her hand, tightening his hold when it remained lax, and started for the service stairwell. “Want to tell me who the kid was?”
“Beto’s assistant.”
As much as he appreciated her succinct answer, a little more detail would have been helpful, but now wasn’t the time to press.
Fortunately, there were no alarms on the emergency-access doors, probably because this top level was used mainly for storage, and anyone entering would have to get past the lower-level security first. He pushed through the door and got both of them out on the landing.
Once Isa was clear, he closed the door softly then checked the stairs for movement and electronic eyes.
When things remained quiet and blind, he tilted his head in an indication to move.
Together, they headed down the stairs. They’d walked barely half a flight when a door above opened and angry voices drifted down.
“This is not my mess to clean up.” The irritated voice bounced down the stairwell.
“He works for you, and you brought her here.” Those familiar tones belonged to Angel.
Locke crowded Isa against the wall and put a finger to his lips in warning as his magic snapped into place.
The rush of power settled over them like an invisible cloak, the air dampening their own sounds even as it allowed them to listen in on what was happening above.
So long as they moved slowly and steadily, stayed away from the railing, and kept to the shadowed edges, they had a fighting chance of remaining unnoticed.
He craned his head to risk checking where the men were.
Sure enough, both were coming down the stairs at a steady pace, accompanied by a hard-faced bouncer.
“And you promised me discretion!” snapped the first, deeper voice that belonged to Beto.
“For fucking around, sure,” Angel snapped back. “But this… this will be expensive.”
The pair’s footsteps rang hollowly through the stairwell. Locke nudged Isa ahead of him, timing their movements to those of Beto and Angel as his magic muted their steps and smudged their images. They just needed to make it past the second-floor door.
“What a surprise,” Beto said flatly.
“You and I both know nothing worthwhile comes cheap, my friend.”
Locke and Isa hit the second-floor landing and stayed toward the back wall.
“Fine, I’ll foot the fuckin’ bill.” Beto’s frustration eased back, replaced by what sounded like actual concern. “I need to get her out of here.”
“Will she talk?” There was a hint of menace in Angel’s question.
The footsteps above stopped abruptly. Locke grabbed for Isa, who was in mid-step, and yanked her back. She gave a soft, surprised gasp, but fortunately, it didn’t travel far.
“Not your problem, Herrera.”
“No, I can guarantee it won’t be.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Beto growled as a series of beeps sounded. “I don’t know what got into the little shit, but she said he attacked her. It was clearly self-defense.”
A door was pulled open. “That should be easy enough to verify.”
“I’m going to want that recording,” Beto said.
“I’m sure you are. Let’s go see how your companion is doing.” There was a pause, then Angel added, “After you.”
There were the sounds of movement. Locke waited for the definitive clunk of the door closing. It didn’t come. Isa went to move, but he pressed her harder against the wall and shook his head. Someone was above them. Listening.
“Dutch, you coming?” a voice called out.
After a heavy pause, a gruff “Yeah” came from directly above them. Finally, the door closed, and silence resettled in the stairwell.
Locke put his mouth near Isa’s ear. “Haul ass, babe. We need to get out now.”