Page 32 of Bitter Spirits

“It won’t last long.”

Before she could decide whether to take his presence as a threat or a comfort, a glint of metal in the darkness indicated they’d reached the end of the hall and the door that led to the service stairwell. She reached for the cool metal bar as ghostly fingers tore at her mind, clawing for a hold. The unearthly touch had her sucking in a sharp breath. She shoved it ruthlessly away and added another layer of emotional ice between her and the essence desperate for acknowledgment. This was not what she wanted to deal with tonight, but whatever had happened left her with no choice—not when it was so close and so raw. It was like waving a dangerously juicy steak in front of a starving woman, and she knew stuffing her face would hurt, but she was a glutton for punishment.

Unfortunately, Locke was about to take a seat at the table—he just didn’t know it. Her hand met cool metal, and she realized she wasn’t comfortable leading him into this without giving him any warning. “I don’t know what we’re walking into, but whatever it is, it’s fresh.”

His light eyes fairly glowed in the dimness, but instead of apprehension, what stared back looked disturbingly like anticipation. “Lay on, Macduff.”

She gave a near-silent huff of amusement before pushing through the door and into a light-filled space. When no alarm sounded, she led Locke up the steps, trying not to wince at the overly loud echo of their passage. She kept expecting someone to burst through a door and catch them, but the incessant hum from the overhead lights was their only witness. The lure of recent death dragged her up the three flights of stairs. At the top landing, she reached for the door, breathing hard. Heels and stairs made for a hell of a workout.

“Wait,” Locke said.

She stilled, her hand poised in midair.

Locke glided in front of her, forcing her to step back as he took her place. “Give me a second.”

He turned, keeping his body between her and whatever lay on the other side. His magic swept past her like an invisible brush of fur and claws, raising the hair on her arms, as an unearthly glow seeped from under his lashes. He lifted his head as if catching a scent while one hand hovered over the metal push bar. A heartbeat passed then a second before he carefully depressed the metal bar on the door, and the latch released with a soft click.

Tension trickled down her spine as Locke eased the door open. Heavy silence wound its way out of the narrow opening. It was stupid to do this blind. They had no idea who or what was up here. Piercing threads of panic, confusion, resentment, fury, and—under it all—a nasty miasma of fear anchored Isa, refusing to let her go.

Locke crept through the door. Despite her driving need to push the Hound aside and charge forward, she stuck to his heels as they moved from the stairwell into what remained of the old kitchen. Moonlight squeezed through the small, grime-covered windows set high in the walls and glinted off the metal vents and broken fluorescent lighting hanging from the water-stained ceiling. Fortunately, that wasn’t their only light. Spelled lanterns were on either side of the room, showing them a walkable path through what was clearly being used as a storage space. Stacks of glassware and other supplies were shoved into the doorless lower cabinets of what used to be the main pass. Tall tables, like those used on the second floor, were piled two deep against the wall on the far end. Nearby, a large swinging door hung precariously.

In a blue aura, Locke moved deeper into the room, searching out potential threats, his magic circling him and Isa like a protective wolf. Caught in death’s thrall, Isa headed to the left, where three large metal freezers lined the wall, leaving him behind.

There, at the far end. She ignored the first two walk-in units, one half blocked by a jumble of metal, the other a yawning pit of shadow, and went straight to the third, which still had a metal door intact. She stood in front of it and cocked her head, listening to the soft rush of air as it twisted into whispered screams. Images played through her mind in a dizzying macabre dance. Ominous emotions flew around like carrion birds eager to feast, and the pendant resting just below the hollow of her throat started to warm. The drifting shadows crept steadily closer, chilling the air even as they gained weight and settled around her to form the familiar folds of the Reaper’s cloak, catching her in death’s embrace. The world around her crystalized into a pitiless clarity where compassion and empathy couldn’t exist.

She grabbed the handle and pulled. The door swung toward her, forcing her to step back into Locke, who was at her back. He caught the door before it could close and shoved it against the wall. Light from the lanterns failed to pierce the darkness inside. She started to walk in.

He took hold of her arm, forcing her to stop. “Hold up.”

She was about to argue when a small glowing ball burst into life.

Locke let her go and motioned with his hand. The orb zipped inside and came to an abrupt stop in midair. “Well, shit.”

“Who are you?” The wavering form of a young man glared at Isa and Locke.

Ignoring him, she joined Locke, who was staring down at a tarp-covered bundle on the floor, his hands on his hips.

“Guess this is why Montenegro wanted to talk to Angel.” Locke’s voice was tight with fury. He lowered himself to his heels and braced his arms against his knees. “Can you find out who she is?”

“Actually, it’s not who you think.” She moved to the other side of the body, crouched down, and started to work at the duct tape holding the tarp in place. It didn’t take her long to peel back the heavy plastic and reveal the face underneath.

“Hey, lady, what kind of sick game are you playing?” The young man’s voice broke.

“That’s not a woman,” Locke said.

“No, it isn’t.” Isa stared down at the blood-smeared face that mirrored the panicked soul remnant pacing back and forth as it made ever shriller demands.

As the specter started to fray, another remanent wavered into being, this one darker, heavier, and fueled by fury. She could feel it growing stronger by the second. She kept her focus on Locke, which enabled her to hold back the echoes battering at her psyche.

“I’ve got something to work with, but it’s not going to last.”

Grim-faced, Locke nodded. “Do what you can, I’ll keep an eye out.”

Trusting him to watch her back, she gathered the Reaper’s magic close, feeling it fall into place. The starlight bursts of magic gathered into the familiar form of the staff. She leaned into its warm weight and straightened, finally turning her attention to the echoes currently losing their shit.

“I don’t understand. Who are you? What is this place? What’s happening?” the first wailed.

“That bitch. I knew she’d screw me over,” the other snarled.