“Tell your friend,” the stranger said quietly, “that the clock is running out.”
Indy stepped aside as the guy moved past him, heading toward the door. The bell chimed, then it was quiet.
For several seconds, he didn’t move, his entire nervous system wrung out like a wet cloth.
Walking to the worktable, he picked up his mug. The coffee was cold, but he drank some of it anyway, needing something to do with his hands.
Tell your friend the clock is running out.
He set the mug down carefully.
The man knew Malik had been here. Had smelled him or tracked him or done whatever it was demons did to find whoever they were hunting for.
He was still standing at the worktable, both hands flat against the surface, when something moved at the alley door.
The handle turned.
In the half-second between the handle moving and the door opening, a very undignified noise shot out of Indy’s mouth.
Malik ducked slightly to clear the frame, his eyes already taking stock. He looked toward the front of the shop, then at Indy. His mate was alive and breathing, thank fuck.
“You,” Indy snapped, “gave me a fucking heart attack. I am too young to keel over.”
In a few strides Malik was inside the office, his gaze sweeping over the small space.
“He’s gone,” Indy said. “Left a minute ago.” The hand pressed against his sternum was unhelpful. “Where did you go? You were right here and then the door opened and you were just gone, poof!”
Malik’s expression was controlled, but his eyes were moving over Indy.
“I went out the alley door when I heard him come in,” Malik said. “I circled around to see if he came in alone.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.” A pause. “As far as I could tell.”
Indy was trying very hard not to spiral, but it wasn’t easy. “He knew you’d been here. Smelled you. He saw the mugs.” Evidence of a morning that had been going great until about five minutes ago. “He said to tell you that the clock is running out. His words. Very dramatic. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend the experience.”
Malik’s jaw tightened.
“Do you know him?” Indy studied his mate carefully, noting the muscle along his jaw moving. “The man who just walked through my shop, ignoring my protests and made a sound that I never want to hear again. Do you know who he is?”
“No,” he said.
The word was flat, which somehow made things worse instead of better. He’d expected Malik to recognize the guy. A thug his mate didn’t know meant… What exactly? Indy had no idea what it actually meant, but it sure as hell wasn’t an invite to tea.
The alley door was still slightly open. A strip of sunny afternoon light ran along the floor.
He looked back at Malik.
“Okay,” Indy said, his voice only an impression of calm. “So we have the demons from before, who we know about. And now we have someone you don’t know, who sniffed around and left a message.” He picked up both coffee mugs and carried them to the small sink in the corner. “Great. Excellent. This is a very manageable situation.”
He rinsed both mugs, turned off the tap, then set them on the drying rack. His hands were only slightly unsteady, which was a miracle given the day he was having.
“Indy.”
“I’m fine,” he argued. “I’m fine. I’m just recalibrating. Again. I’m doing a lot of recalibrating this week.” He leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms, hoping his face wasn’t broadcasting just how rattled he was. “What does the clock running out mean? Is that a specific thing, or is it general ominous threat?”
Malik slowly shook his head. “I don’t know.”
