Chapter 26
Locke
The world spun and settled into recognizable lines as Locke grimly forced the radiating pain aside to be dealt with later.
The shattered picnic table tilted drunkenly, and as his mind started to clear, he searched out Angel’s magic, but it was gone.
As was the debilitating fear that had left him so exposed.
Alternating waves of heat and chills washed over him as his senses came back online.
He was on his hands and knees, grit scraping his palms as they pressed into the heat-warmed pavers.
His tongue was coated with the bitter-copper taste of blood.
He managed to spit his mouth clear, and the crimson smear marred the paver.
His ears rang with a high-pitched hum. He used the table to get to his feet as he wiped at whatever was trickling into his eyes.
When he dropped his hand, blood and sweat stained the back of it.
He wiped it on his pants and looked around.
The once-neat yard looked like a tornado had torn through it, leaving behind broken furniture, overturned coals, and a trail of shattered pottery and glass.
The air was heavy with power as flashes of olive green and onyx black clashed in silent fury.
None of that compared to what stood a few feet away and left him wondering if he had hit his head earlier: three black-eyed Isas facing down one battered Angel.
What the hell is going on?
A flick of power whipped past Angel, who managed to evade it by diving to the side, and headed toward Locke.
His magic flared, the air tightening around him, as he threw himself to the side and rolled over the broken picnic table.
When he got to his feet, he saw that Angel had wrapped his magic around the Isa in the middle, the dull-green tendrils spearing her torso and limbs.
Power swelled, the obscene strands pulling her off her feet until she hung in midair, her spine curved in a painful arc.
The Isa to the left watched Angel with an avid disturbing hunger, something clutched in her hand, half hidden by her thigh, and stalked him with uncanny grace.
The Isa to the right held a wrought iron poker and favored her right side, ribbons of deepest black dancing around her as she fended off Angel’s magic.
She missed one then another as they latched on, sinking deep.
Her eyes widened, her face flinched, and her movements became jerky, the shadowed ribbons flickering like a faulty bulb.
That was his Isa. Locke reached for his second blade only to come up empty. He scanned the ground and spotted a large glass shard. Wrapping his palm in a thick layer of air, he grabbed it and, keeping it low, rushed Angel from behind.
“No!” The furious cry came from his left.
An invisible force shoved him aside, sending him crashing back into the broken table. He lost his hold on the glass shard and barely managed to avoid impaling himself on a thick splinter.
Warned by the cry, Angel half turned toward the last Isa, who lunged forward, wrapped her arm around his neck, and pulled him into her.
The muffled silence fractured, and the storm of dull green winked out, as did the other two Isas.
Sounds rushed back in—harsh breathing, the revving of an approaching engine, and the faint roar of an overhead jet.
In the backyard, Isa and Angel stood in a strange embrace.
A cruel smile curved Isa’s lips as Angel’s hands went to his stomach.
When his gaze rose to hers, he was frowning. “Chiquita?”
Isa leaned in, and Angel grunted in pain. “It’s payback, asshole.” She stepped back, and in her hand was a bloodied shard of thick pottery. “And it’s Cora, not chiquita.”
Angel swayed as the crimson stain grew.
“Gods dammit.” Locke rushed to catch the Harvester before he hit the ground and barely caught him in time.
He lowered Angel slowly, noting the sickly sheen of his light-brown complexion.
He put pressure on the gut wound, ignoring Angel’s pained grimace.
“Hold on, Herrera.” Angel tried to push him away physically and magically but was weakened on both fronts.
Locke glared up at the spirit who was clearly possessing Isa. “Is the debt paid?”
Those disturbing black eyes turned to him, the chilling smile widening. “When he takes his last breath.”
Shit. We need Angel alive, at least long enough to get a damn name. “Isa, I need you.”
Cora’s smile disappeared as she frowned down at him. “Stop messing with my fun. She can come back when he’s dead.”
“No,” he shot back, his voice hard as warm blood seeped from under his hands to stain the ground. “Now. He has answers we need.”
“About what?” Her head cocked as if she was listening to someone. “The drug? That wasn’t his deal.”
Locke’s mind spun with the revelation as he tried to press harder against the wound. He looked at Angel but found no help there. The man’s eyes were closed, and the hand that had been battering at Locke’s arms lay limp on the ground. His breaths grew shallower by the moment.
“Then whose was it?” Locke asked. When Cora didn’t answer, he risked looking at her.
She was shaking her head and paying him no heed. “No, no. He’s too stupid. He needed us.”
Clearly, Isa was trying to help from wherever she was. Cora moved in agitated circles as she grabbed at her head. “You can’t. Not until he’s dead. Stop it! I know what you’re doing. Stop it!” The last came out in an ear-shredding shriek.
“What the fuck?” The unexpected question came from Zev, who stalked out of the house, his attention pinned to Isa who was talking to herself. “Is she okay?”
“She’s good.” Locke hoped he wasn’t lying, but he had to trust Isa could handle Cora. “But I’m losing Herrera.”
Zev turned away from the muttering woman pacing in tight circles and joined Locke next to the bleeding man. “What do we have?”
“Gut wound. You have anything we can use? A healing charm? Something to slow the bleeding?”
“Not on me.” Zev’s face was a grim mask. “I might have a stasis ward in the car.”
He was about to have Zev go grab it when a hand landed on his shoulder. Locke turned his head to find Isa staring down at Angel.
“Let him go.”
He started to protest. “Isa—”
“He’s almost gone.” She looked at him, tiny pinpoints of white flashing in the black depths of her eyes as her expression wavered from resigned to coldly amused and back. “A stasis spell won’t help.”
Locke held those eerie eyes, torn between frustration and fury. The answers he needed were right… fucking… there, dammit.
Isa’s fingers brushed over his tense jaw. “Trust me.”
His gaze drifted down and snagged on the scythe charm at the base of her throat, realization striking hard and fast. His gaze jumped back to hers. “You’ll be okay?”
Her touch fell away, and the small smile she gave him was more natural and real than Cora’s earlier grin. “I will be.”
“Make it quick.”
Her lips tightened as she dipped her chin in acknowledgment.
Trusting in the woman who had made a spot for herself in his life, he turned back to Angel. Slowly, he lifted his bloodstained hands away.
Isa sank into a crouch, shadows from the encroaching evening gathering around her, deepening until she was once again draped in the familiar tattered cloak.
A chill edged the warm air, bringing hints of ash and smoke, as the Reaper’s skeletal mask settled over Isa’s features.
Tendrils stretched from the Reaper to coil around Angel.
There was a spark or two of deep green that was quickly extinguished as the tendrils bound together and widened into an undulating shroud that enveloped Angel’s body.
For one stretched-out moment, silence held the world still. Then Isa rose to her feet, her voice flat and cold. “The debt is paid. Leave.”
Locke and Zev both stood and backed away from the shroud-covered body as a vaporous form was shoved into existence.
The vapors took on the shape of a young woman with dark hair, her mouth open in a soundless scream, her fingers curled into claws.
Malevolence swirled around her as she darted toward Isa.
Locke’s muscles bunched as he prepared to intercept, but it wasn’t needed. An invisible wind tore through the form, shredding the remnants to nothing and leaving behind a heavy press of power that dimmed the evening light.
“Hound.”
Locke looked at Isa.
Her expression was empty of emotions and her voice flat as she pointed at Angel.
“You should know that Cora and Carter made a deal with Angel. They provided the initial sample, and for a cut, they connected him to a supplier.” The ghostly skeletal mask flickered.
“I searched her memories for who the supplier was, but her recollections have been scrubbed.”
“Someone used a Memory mage on her?” Zev asked.
Isa cocked her head in that disturbing alien way. “Apparently so. I was unable to get anything more than that.” She turned back to Locke. “You still wish to question Angel?”
His yes hovered on the tip of his tongue, but considering how much of a threat the Harvester had been in life, he had to ask. “Can he hurt you?”
A flash of cold amusement was there and gone. “Harvesters feed on the living. My business is death. There’s nothing for him to eat.”
Not exactly reassuring, but he had to trust that Isa would respect her limits. “Then yes, I have some questions for him.”
“So do I,” Zev added.
“So be it,” Isa murmured as the shadows clustered until the Reaper’s hood settled around her, hiding her face from view.
A wind whipped the frayed edges of her cloak, and a curved staff formed in her hand, flickering in and out of view as murmurs and wails gathered, there but indistinct.
The writhing shadows thickened as they moved around Angel’s body, carrying an icy chill.
Locke’s skin crawled as ebony ribbons, dotted with lightning streaks, erupted from the body lying between him and Zev.
Locke’s magic sank into a crouch, ready to pounce, but held itself in check, letting Isa do her job.
Even knowing it was coming, he wasn’t ready for the storm of power to switch off or the resulting unnatural stillness.
“Rise.” The command held undeniable power, and it pulled at Locke’s bones.
Angel’s soul came together and hovered between the Hound and the Hunter. “What—who—” It caught sight of the shadow-covered body below it. Anger, arrogance, and fear washed through its face as it looked at the Reaper standing silently at its feet. “?No me jódes! What did you do, chiquita?”
Isa said nothing.
Enraged, the wraith shot forward. “What did you do?”
Before Locke could interfere, heavy coils of magic looped around the spirit and held it in place inches from the Reaper. “You will answer the Hound’s questions.”
Struggling against the bonds, Angel’s soul snarled in defiance. “And if I don’t?”
There was a shift, then Angel screamed as the binding power whipped around him, shredding his form. “?Basta!”
The power released him, and the Reaper’s hood turned to Locke. “Ask your questions.”
Not knowing how long Isa could hold Angel, he got to the point. “Who is the supplier Cora set you up with?”
The answer came grudgingly. “I don’t know.”
Locke wanted to call bullshit, but Isa didn’t react, which meant it was the truth. “How is that possible? You don’t strike me as the type to go into business with an unknown.”
Anger and disgust twisted Angel’s face. “I trusted Carter.”
“He was desperate,” Isa said, speaking over Angel. “He needed money fast. To replace what he stole.”
The pieces started to fall into place. Desperate, Angel must have stolen from less-than-understanding sources, like those who avoided legal scrutiny. Isa had once told him Angel’s legit businesses were a front.
“You were stealing from your own, weren’t you?” Locke asked.
Angel jerked against the relentless chains. Magic flared, and he hissed in pain. “They are not mine. They worked for me, but if they found out the money was gone, they’d have turned. I needed a quick fix. The distribution cut would cover it until I lined up investors.”
Arrogance and stupidity were not a good combination. Locke wondered how Angel had managed to hold his position as long as he had.
“Give us the name of your supplier,” Zev bit out.
Angel didn’t even acknowledge him. Isa had set it up so Angel had to answer Locke. So Locke repeated Zev’s demand.
Angel clamped his mouth shut. Magic flared along his bindings, and the soul screamed. When the magic eased off, the remnants were hazier than before. “I don’t know.” Angel’s voice was sullen.
“Truth,” Isa intoned.
Locke and Zev exchanged a look, then Locke asked Isa, “Has he been scrubbed?”
She took a moment to answer. “No, he truly had no direct contact with the supplier. But he did tap into Carter’s phone and trace a series of calls to someplace called the Forge Foundation.”