Page 59 of Bitter Spirits

“Thanks again.” Des’s voice drifted to him, and then a door closed. Heavy footsteps crunched down a path, then came the squeak of metal. Des pushed through the gate set in the low wall and joined him at the curb. “We’re good. Here.” He thrust his phone at Locke, talking low and fast. “We’re here.” He ran his finger along the screen. “The house is here.”

Locke took in the details. “We could’ve parked in the apartments, hopped the fence there.” He pointed at a short wall running behind the apartment complex’s parking lot and a home.

“And been caught.” Des pinched the screen, bringing the image closer. “See? Cameras.”

Sure enough, there were cameras positioned along the complex’s back side.

“We go in this way.” Des traced the route. “Hop this fence, which puts us next door. We go in through the back here.”

“Got it.” Locke handed the phone back to Des. “Let’s go.”

They crossed the street, threading past tipped-over garbage and recycling bins, and jogged down a narrow asphalt path winding between the tightly clustered properties. Des stopped under a tree that towered over a cinderblock fence. A low warning bark started up behind it.

Locke came up to him. “Here?”

“Here.” The barking intensified. Des shot him a look. “You got this?”

Locke didn’t bother with a response. He did a small hop to grab the top of the fence then hauled his ass up and over and landed in a crouch in the dirt. A chain rattled as the barking turned frenzied. Locke’s magic stalked the thick-chested dog. Recognizing he was outmatched, the poor boy stopped in mid-bark and, with a whimper, lowered slowly to the ground, his attention on Locke. Locke moved to him. Easing his magic’s hold, he ran a hand over the quivering mutt.

His magic sniffed the air and tasted it on its metaphorical tongue as he scanned the yard and house. Dark windows, no cameras, lots of dirt, patches of dried grass, and cracked pavers. The air carried the flat stillness of an empty place, so no one was home. Good.

Behind him, Des landed with a thump. Locke gave the dog one last pat, then he and Des headed toward the last fence separating them from Isa. Or so Locke hoped. Towering pink bougainvillea bushes filled the narrow space between the house and the fence, and another palo verde tree sat in the back corner. The two men picked a spot near the tree at the back end to make their entry.

Locke grabbed hold of the top edge and pulled himself up. He hung there for a few seconds, taking in the yard, then dropped back down. “Not much cover, but there’s a straight shot to the back door. Could be an issue.”

“Then we split. You take the back. I’ll take the front.”

“Works for me.” Locke worked a ring off his finger, activated the embedded rune, and handed it to Des. “Use this. If it flashes once, hold. Flashes twice, go.”

Des took it. “One, hold. Two, go. Got it.” He turned and headed for the side gate.

Locke waited for him to clear the gate before he once again played leapfrog with the fence. Tapping into his air magic, he stilled the branches’ movements and muffled his landing as he dropped into the yard. He held his crouch for a long moment as the slight breeze whispered to him.

Not all Hounds carried the same abilities, but most tended to fall under the Elemental mage classification instead of Mystic or Divine. Having an affinity with earth, wind, fire, or water tended to give a Hound a unique advantage when hunting prey. And at that moment, Locke’s affinity for air was telling him all sorts of interesting things. Like the fact that active magic was at work, creating a barrier of artificial silence around the house. He dialed his magic in, like tuning into a radio station, until he could pick up the faint sounds coming from inside the house. A conversation between two voices, one low, one high. Male and female. He could feel Des’s presence working around to the front yard and sensed when he stopped.

Using that as his signal, Locke made his way along the fence toward the porch that ran along the back side of the house. There was a set of glass French doors, blinds drawn, on one side and a large window with square glass panes on the other. Even though blinds covered both, he kept low and avoided sight lines.

As he crept up on the window, his magic burrowed through the silencing spell and brought back bits and pieces of the conversation, including the sharp order in Spanish to sit. Inside, the air shifted as someone moved, and with his back to the wall, Locke froze. The presence moved closer, then came the sounds of a refrigerator opening and closing and the presence retreating.

The voice spoke again. “Go ahead, chiquita.”

The endearment set Locke’s teeth on edge, but the taunting, “Try it,” that followed had him wondering what it was that Isa was attempting. He paused, listening for her voice. When it came, the anxiety in his gut eased a fraction.

“He was going to take me to the Den. However, since I was there and so was Nova, I figured I might as well ask, see if she heard any rumors about a new drug.”

Since Locke was just as interested in Angel’s answer, he waited for it and was unsurprised when the man played dumb. For her part, Isa stuck with the one-bartender-to-another angle. There was something about setting someone up, then Angel was at it again.

“The one who betrayed everyone, chiquita… That was all you.” Something in Angel’s tone set off warning bells.

But worse was the retribution in Isa’s voice, signaling she was either in full-on Reaper mode or royally pissed. “That’s funny. I remember it being all you.”

She is definitely both.

Locke flashed Des as he got into position. He kicked out, slamming his heel just above the lock on the French door. Wood split, glass shattered, and blinds rattled. From the front came a sound of violent entry as Locke charged through the shattered remains of the back door.

He bolted through the dining room, his hip slamming into the table and sending the metal legs screeching over tile. He knocked a chair out of his way and hit the archway leading to the front of the house, only to be brought up short as his magic flared in warning. In what should have been a living room, ebony tendrils whipped around, sucking all the light deep into its dark heart, where three indistinct forms were locked in a silent struggle. Despite whatever was going down, the absence of noise was jarring. Magic filled the space like a trapped storm, churning within the confines of the living room. Flashes of power zipped through the charged air like lightning, and the bone-deep chill of power cut through the air inches away from Locke. The silent storm shredded the shadows, revealing a glimpse of Isa, her form draped in the Reaper’s cloak, which shifted from black to gray to ghostly white and back. Her lips were drawn back in a fierce snarl as she lunged toward one of the figures.

“Isa!” He started to reach out.