Chapter 22
Locke
Locke’s magic snapped and snarled against his imposed restraint as they drove Isaiah back to the clinic for treatment.
His magic wanted to run Carter’s scent to the ground, and it wasn’t the only one.
During the ride back to the clinic, Isa all but hummed with a dark intensity that worried Locke.
Whatever was driving her was almost as feral as the instinct driving him and his magic.
That wouldn’t normally be a problem, but if both of them were out for blood, things could get messy, especially if he couldn’t keep his footing on the thin line between personal and professional.
Speaking of which…
After pulling into the clinic’s lot, he shot Zev a quick update on Carter and Isaiah via text.
Locke hoped Zev would set the Cordova e-geeks loose and flush out something helpful.
He and Isa got Isaiah inside and were getting ready to leave him in Mari’s capable hands when a still-jittery Paisley burst into the exam room, took one look at Isaiah’s bruised and bloodied face, and broke into tears.
It took both Isa and Mari to talk the girl down from her hysterics and get her out of Isaiah’s arms so the nurse could finish treating him.
By the time Locke and Isa were free from the drama, it was late afternoon.
Isa followed him out of the clinic to the car. “Where do we start?”
He rounded the hood, stopped at the driver’s-side door, and looked at her over the roof of the car. “At the apartment.”
“Works for me.” She yanked open the passenger door and slid inside.
When they pulled back into the apartment complex, activity at the pool was in full swing.
It was clear kids were home from whatever activities held their attention during the summer months.
Locke and Isa made their way up to the second floor without being stopped.
At the apartment’s door, Locke checked the warding he’d left behind and was not surprised to find it undisturbed.
Chances were high that Carter was in the wind or on Angel’s ass.
Either way, Locke doubted the man would be coming back.
Inside the apartment, Locke had Isa stand near the breakfast bar and out of the way as he went to work.
He freed his magic, and the world around him sharpened into painful focus, the air trapped inside the apartment becoming a myriad of competing scents, while in the wreckage, the smallest details hit his senses like small electrical strikes.
He catalogued the pieces and fit them together like a multidimensional puzzle.
Locke was familiar with both Isaiah and Paisley’s scents, and it didn’t take long to separate out the scent signatures as he moved through the apartment.
Paisley’s was lighter, overridden by Isaiah’s, which was tinged heavily with the coppery echo of his bloody beatdown.
He sank into a crouch, getting closer to the mess in the shambled closet, shifting meticulously through the scents.
The third one he tagged as Carter’s, not just because the man’s fury rode the air like the sharp and scraping bite of pepper but because there was also an underlying note that raised Locke’s hackles.
“I know this,” he muttered to himself as his magic took it in, tasting the harsh chemical edge blurred by a musk of decay.
“Know what?”
He pivoted to see Isa standing in the door of the bedroom, watching him.
“That scent…” He turned back to the torn-up space where Carter had cornered Isaiah and let his magic sift through the air.
There. He dragged the odor closer and realized where he’d caught that subtle note before.
The night at the Den, when Carter had stood silently in front of them, that same scent a faint hint teasing Locke’s nose, and again when he’d been standing over Leo. The pieces clicked together.
“Shit.”
“Shit, what?” Isa demanded from the doorway.
He rose and made his way back to her. “Is Carter an illusion mage? Do you know?”
She frowned. “A Mirage, I think.”
That explained why he’d been guarding the door at the Den.
Depending on their inherent strength, a Mirage could cloak things from sight—like, say, the entrance to an event that wanted to stay under the radar.
The stronger ones could shield people, turning them invisible for all intents and purposes.
“How strong?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She studied him. “Why?”
“Carter’s dosing.”
Isa’s eyes widened. “With the same thing Leo took?”
“And that was given to Micah.”
“That can’t be good.”
“It’s not.” His voice was all sorts of grim, but he couldn’t help it. He nudged her back into the living room. “We need to get him locked down ASAP.”
“That requires finding him first.” She moved around the overturned sofa.
“Yeah, I’m aware.” He followed her. “But the only thing we have to go on is that he’s going after Angel.”
She stopped near the front door and turned back to him. “Can’t you track Carter?”
“Easily, but I’m betting I won’t get past the parking lot downstairs. As soon as he gets in a car and takes off, I’ll have limited options, none of which will allow us to move fast. Might be easier to get ahead of him before he implodes and takes everyone with him.”
“Implodes?”
“Got a better description for losing your shit the way Leo and Micah did?”
She shook her head, but she looked doubtful.
“What?” he asked.
Her answer, when it came, was in an un-Isa-like, carefully modulated tone. “Even if we manage to stop Carter or Angel, it’s too late. It’s out there.”
He knew exactly what she was implying, and since she was inexorably tangled up in this mess—and, Locke hoped, with him—he broke one of his own rules and shared confidential information with her. “Which is why Emilio is trying to get irrefutable evidence to present to the Council.”
A small frown of surprise marred her forehead. “He’s backing the Council into a corner?”
“He’s trying.”
Her attention shifted away as she processed his answer. “Huh.”
Locke got close and tilted his head to catch her eye and get her to focus back on him. “So, I’ve got to ask—you got any ideas on where Angel would go if he’s trying to slither back into the shadows?”
The gold flecks in her eyes deepened, her hazel gaze going unfocused, as she worried her lip. Long, quiet seconds ticked by before she met his eyes with wary resignation. “Maybe.”
Locke pulled into an empty spot in front of a redbrick building on the downtown street.
On the ride over, Isa had remained strangely stiff and silent, her I don’t want to talk about it vibe loud and clear.
He’d given her space, but now that they had arrived, he had questions.
He braced an arm on the steering wheel and peered through the passenger-side window.
A far cry from the modern glass office buildings and older, dust-coated adobe ones, this one-story Craftsman-style structure sat on a thick cement slab and had a peaked roof and wide wraparound porch.
A discreet sign on the building’s exterior bore the name Voces Unidos.
“What is this place?” he asked.
Isa stayed turned toward her door, gripping the handle. “They help local businesses get off the ground.”
“And they’re going to know where Angel is?” he asked incredulously.
“If anyone does, they will.” Her voice was flat as tension spun around her.
“Is this a front?”
That got her attention. She turned to him, bemused. “What?”
“Is this place a front or something? Is that why they would know where to find someone like Angel?”
“No, but”—she opened her door—“my dad and Pilar run this place.” She got out of the car.
“Well, shit.” The quiet curse chased the slam of the passenger door.
Part of him hated putting her through this, but a bigger part understood the necessity.
He waited for a break in traffic before getting out of the car then met Isa on the sidewalk.
Behind her, the window blinds were drawn against the afternoon sun.
Taking advantage of the momentary privacy, he took her hand and brought her into his side.
Even knowing it was a stupid question, he asked, “You sure about this?”
Her fingers tightened on his as she looked at him. “I’m sure we need to stop Angel.”
He studied her face, taking in the fine lines bracketing her mouth and the grim, resolute light in her eyes. “Okay. Then let’s get this done.”
Together, they walked up to the porch and around the corner to the door, where a list of business hours was posted.
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to shield her from much, Locke still took the lead, opening the door and stepping inside.
A long counter divided the space, leaving the office on one side and the reception on the other.
The ends of the counter stopped short of the walls, creating walkways to reach the different spaces.
An open door in the back wall led farther back.
A statuesque woman with sleek, silver-threaded dark hair rose from a desk behind the counter. The welcoming smile on her face cooled when Isa followed Locke in. “Isa.”
“Pilar.”
The older woman’s attention shifted to him, and her voice warmed fractionally. “Good afternoon.”
He inclined his head. “Afternoon.”
Now that pleasantries had been exchanged, Pilar’s attention returned to Isa. “Why are you here?”
“Angel’s in trouble.”
Locke wasn’t quite sure where Isa was going with this, but he waited for his cue.
Pilar’s flicker of concern was replaced by a sneer of disbelief. “And you’re—what? Trying to help?”
Like a queen, Isa inclined her head and calmly said, “I am.”
Pilar’s eyes narrowed as heat licked along her voice. “Like you ‘helped’ last time?”
The air around Isa tightened, as did her body, but her voice remained level. “This is nothing like last time. One of Angel’s… employees is going after him. We need to find Angel before he does.”
The older woman folded her arms. “I’m not sure Angel needs your help.”