Chapter 24
Locke
From his position tucked behind an oleander, Locke eyed the large window, noting the reflective sheen.
Treated for heat and glare, the glass kept him blind to what was happening inside while offering anyone inside a clear line of sight to the yard.
He calculated his odds of getting to the house without being seen.
Slim. Very fucking slim.
Sweat beaded at the back of his neck and slid down his spine. He wiped away a rogue drop from his temple. The approaching evening wasn’t offering much relief from the oppressive heat, the air heavy and still.
Too still.
His innate air magic rose at the instinctual warning, scenting through the invisible trails, and found the sharp sting of magical markers.
Someone had cast a modified soundproofing spell recently.
He briefly considered breaking it, but since that would alert the caster, he chose a different route.
His magic swept out, avoiding the artificial boundary of the other power, and found a weak breeze riffling lazily through the upper branches of the tree guarding the back fence.
Not wanting to scare it away, he threaded his magic carefully into the aerial dance, strengthening the draft into something more helpful.
He directed the gust back toward the house, muting his magical signature as much as he could so it wouldn’t trigger the soundproofing spell.
The reinforced breeze found its way through, slipping around the gaps in the windows. When it returned, it brought the sounds of an argument. A flex of will allowed him to share what he was hearing with Isa.
“… with her, so tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He recognized Angel’s voice, leaving the first to belong to Carter.
He wasn’t sure who “she” was, but considering the rising violence in the men’s tones, Locke figured it wouldn’t be long before things got physical.
And when that happened, those inside would be too busy to notice what was going on outside.
Moments later, a rage-filled shout erupted, and so did he.
Locke shot toward the house, staying low.
His shoulder hit the stucco with bruising force as a large crash came from inside.
He was just about to peek over the edge of the window when something smashed through in a shower of glass and wood.
Locke covered his head with his arms and hissed as a hot slice of pain cut across one forearm before he could erect a buffer of air to deflect the cascade of sharp objects.
The soundproofing spell snapped out of existence, and he caught Isa’s gasp as he pivoted to see a body rolling over the pavers and hitting the wicker chairs clustered around a firepit.
The body came to a stop, but it didn’t stay down as magic boiled out of the broken window frame.
It skimmed just above Locke’s head, so close his hair stood on end, the sensation akin to skin being raked with razor-sharp claws, but instead of spilling blood, it tore across Locke’s senses in a shocking burst of pain that left his muscles frighteningly loose and his mind scrambling for purchase.
He stumbled out from under the window and off to the side, somehow getting out of the river of vindictive power pouring from the house, and the invisible onslaught pulled back.
He bumped into the picnic table and caught his balance with a hand on the splintery top. He shook his head clear in time to see thick arms bulging as the man who had been thrown pushed up and lifted his close-shorn head. His eyes, bright with fury, were locked on the house.
Carter. His mouth was bloodied and twisted in animalistic rage as he got to his feet with uncanny grace. A burnt-orange glow erupted, lining his large frame as he swiped an arm over his blood-spattered chin then spat. “Let’s try something different, asshole.”
Power swept through the yard, and in a silent explosion, the world around Locke shifted sideways.
The early-evening sun disappeared, replaced by tones of gray.
Flashes of dull green and deep black cut through the distorted shadows like lightning.
A strange mist writhed around Locke’s legs and rolled over the broken pavers.
Against the dreary fog stood the once-neat house, which now appeared abandoned, its windows turned to black pits filled with jagged glass teeth.
Sounds stretched and warped as if time was twisting on itself.
Locke thought he heard Isa, but her cry turned into a blood-chilling shriek as something large and angry growled nearby.
His magic stalked forward, sharpening his senses to near-painful levels. For a brief disconcerting second, the normal world returned, only to be sucked back under by this nightmarish version. But it was enough for realization to sink in.
Illusionary attack.
Locke froze in place, his muscles quivering under the enforced stillness.
As his mind and senses went to war, he sifted through what was real and what was being powered by Carter’s magic.
Illusion mages came in three flavors: Charmer, Nightmare, and Mirage.
The first two messed with your emotions, but the last one, Mirage, messed with your perception.
Carter was definitely fucking with his perception.
Locke pulled out one of his blades and held it at the ready. With his empty hand, he reached out until rough wood rasped against his palm. The picnic table. He flattened his hand against it, using it as an anchor as his mind provided a snapshot of the scene.
The window Carter had flown through was to his right, and the man had landed at about two o’clock.
With the house at Locke’s back, that put Isa, tucked behind the garden wall, to his left at eleven o’clock, leaving only Angel unaccounted for.
To join in, Angel would either have to go through the window or out the patio door.
The magic that allowed Locke to be an exceptional hunter picked through scents and sounds even as it ignored the ever-shifting landscape and implied threats.
Since trusting what he saw was no longer an option, he closed his eyes.
He found Isa’s scent first, a faint cinnamon-laced vanilla.
Then Carter’s, a little beyond her, stronger with a disturbing chemical-tinged sweat and fury.
But there was another scent whispering along the air, off to his left and creeping closer, a smooth, dry musk tinted with bitter ice. Angel.
The warping sounds grew clearer, and he caught Carter’s angry tones, followed by the crash of something breaking.
He held his position even as the ground trembled under his feet and his spine crawled in warning that someone was approaching.
Locke flexed his elemental magic, thickening a layer of air and wrapping it around him like a cloak.
It wouldn’t stop an attack, but it would blunt it.
“Locke, your left!”
Catching Isa’s warning, he swiped out, eyes flashing open.
Minute changes in the air telegraphed body heat, and even though all he saw was dizzying shadows, his blade caught something lighter than muscle, likely cloth and skin.
A tight grip took his forearm and pulled him forward, wrenching it backward.
His fingers spasmed, his blade falling to the ground.
Locke fisted his free hand and threw a sharp, vicious jab.
His knuckles cracked against bone. A pained grunt sounded, and the grip on his arm loosened.
He pulled back fast just as the world winked back in, the sunshine blindingly bright after the dull grays.
Locke blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision, and caught a sense of nearby movement.
As the air shifted past him, he dove out of the way and stumbled into a wall, rough stucco scraping skin.
He pushed off and spun around just in time to find Angel stalking toward him, thick tendrils of olive green flecked with black dancing around him in a magical storm.
They struck out, hitting the dense wall of air Locke held in place, and whipped back to strike again.
Locke rushed Angel, bending low to evade the strike, and caught the man in the gut with his shoulder.
As he wrapped his arms around Angel’s thighs and hefted upward, a sharp pain sliced across his back.
With a roar, he stumbled forward and slammed Angel into the table. The wooden top split with a loud crack.
Undaunted, Angel swung out, his fist slamming into the side of Locke’s head.
Even as Locke rocked and his vision blurred, he sank a vicious punch into Angel’s ribs, feeling the bone give.
An answering pain spiraled up from his kidneys where Angel landed a hit.
Without releasing his hold, Locke punched out again, his angle awkward as Angel tried to buck free.
Angel gave a grunt of pain. His fist crashed into Locke’s skull, leaving his ears ringing and his vision going white.
Locke held on grimly, coiling his air magic around Angel’s struggling form, and slowly cut off Angel’s air supply.
His vision came back in patches, providing snapshots of Angel’s red face.
He could feel Angel’s desperation as he bucked, his magic striking out in a flurry of blows to batter at Locke’s shield of air.
Locke’s magic held the strikes at bay, but Angel still swiped out, fingers curled into claws.
Locke jerked his head back, saving his eyes but leaving his neck exposed as Angel dug bloodied furrows into his skin.
A pained feminine cry, quickly cut off, yanked Locke’s attention to the yard, where Isa was struggling with the much larger Carter.
“Isa!”
His flash of panic was a momentary distraction, but that was all it took.
He lost his hold on Angel, who jackknifed his legs and shot them into Locke’s gut, shoving him back.
Black-flecked green whipped out, found purchase in the cracks of his concern for Isa, and burrowed fast and deep.
Worry spiked and deepened into crippling fear, splitting Locke’s attention between threats.
Bound by the unnatural terror ripping through his psyche, Locke couldn’t move, his gaze fixed on where Isa continued to fight Carter as a voice whispered through his mind that she would die.
Bullshit. Isa isn’t weak—never has been. She’ll never go down easy. Even now, she’s holding her own.
Yet he still couldn’t look away. Fury burned under the unnatural icy hold, but it was too late. His hindbrain screamed in warning as pain tore through his back, sending him to his knees.