Page 70 of Bitter Spirits

“Only because someone else paid the price first.” Guilt dug its claws in, sinking through remembered cries for help and the stink of fear and blood. “If I’d made the decision sooner, if I’d been braver, I could have stopped him.” The details of that last horrific night when she’d run from Angel—from the things she hadn’t stopped—crowded her throat, leaving her choked.

Locke’s eyes warmed even as he challenged her. “Could you really have helped? Be honest. You were a teen, and he was a rising member of a well-known, vicious street crew. The fact that you escaped—much less what you’ve made of yourself—is a minor miracle.”

She didn’t feel like she’d escaped. In fact, she felt like she was still running. “But he’s still spreading his poison.”

“So this time, we stop him.”

He made it sound so simple. She just wasn’t sure if her idea of stopping Angel was the same as Locke’s. She reached for the door. “Let’s go find Isaiah.”

They both got out, and the Dodge’s doors thudded closed. Locke and Isa headed toward the open entry gate. A quick check of the property map, helpfully posted just in front of the wooden fence, directed them to the second floor of the back side of the courtyard. She started forward only to be brought up short when Locke caught her hand and tugged her gently back.

She half turned and gave him a frown. “What?”

He wrapped his other hand around the base of her neck. Her free hand came up and flattened against his chest as he leaned in. “Take a breath, reinita,” he warned. “You can’t walk in looking ready to commit murder. We’re just here to visit Isaiah.”

He had a point. Isa dropped her head until her forehead rested against his sternum. She drew in a deep breath, taking in his comforting scent, as she shoved all her messy emotions down. It took two more inhalations before the rigid line of her shoulders relaxed and she could curve her lips into a natural smile. Then she pulled back.

Locke studied her for a long moment before an approving gleam appeared in his eyes. He used his hold on her neck to bring her close enough to press a quick kiss to her lips, then he let her go. “Ready?”

She tightened her hold on his hand and nodded. Together, they walked in and started along the path skirting the iron pool fence. Within it, a very curvy young woman lounged on a pool float, engrossed in her e-reader. Near the shallow end, where the steps dropped into the water, a harried mother kept an eye on a couple of smaller humans intent on splashing everything, and muffled music drifted down from behind windows and plaster.

Underneath one of the umbrellas, an older woman tracked Locke and Isa’s progress with curiosity. “Hello!” she called out.

Locke didn’t slow, but he did give her a charming grin and a wave. “Morning.”

Isa managed to do the same, and it seemed to satisfy the woman. At the covered stairwell at the side of the building, they climbed the stairs. They walked along the second-floor walkway, crossed over to the third building that jutted away from the pool, and continued down to the far end. A sail canopy stretched over a paved area with large pots of colorful flowers surrounding a patio table, a built-in BBQ, and a stretch of artificial turf bookended by wooden cornhole boards. They passed the open door of a laundry room. Bright laughter came from inside as someone talked excitedly about a recent date, and a gust of air brought a barrage of flowery scents Isa recognized as fabric softener. Locke came to a stop and tugged his hand free, his chin angled up, his gaze sweeping around them, and the air around him sharpening.

She shot him a look. “What?”

“He’s been here.”

Her attention shot to the last door on the end, which belonged to Isaiah. “Shit,” she whispered, dread clinging to her like a deranged monkey. She stayed behind Locke as he stalked to the door. Knowing Angel, she braced herself for what they would find inside.

Locke stayed to the side of the door and stretched out his arm, prepared to knock, only to stop and drop it. Isa realized the door wasn’t completely shut, as if the latch had failed to catch. He took a step back, his gaze running over the doorframe. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it, because his face darkened. He touched a finger to the top corner of the doorframe, and a sigil burst into silent, burning light.

It took Isa a second to recognize the silencing spell that covered the doorway. They had no way to tell what was happening inside. Her dread froze into an icy knot. She looked behind them, where the rest of the world continued uninterrupted, then back at Locke, who had pulled a small but deadly-looking blade from somewhere. He handed it to her and motioned for her to stay put.

Even though she wanted to argue, she knew better. She took the knife from him, and her fingers tightened around the grip. It wasn’t much, but it was better than going in empty-handed.

Locke put a finger to his lips and then held up three fingers, starting a silent countdown. His last finger came down. He rolled through the door, staying low.

Nerves strung tight, she stood there, heart pounding, ears straining as nothing but deafening silence answered. Time distorted, stretching interminably, as she waited for Locke’s signal. It couldn’t have been long before he was back, reaching to drag her inside.

She crossed the threshold, her ears popping as she stepped inside the spell. Her breath caught. The place was trashed. There was an overturned sofa to the right, and to the left, on the floor, was a flat-screen TV with a shattered screen and wires hanging out like entrails. Beside it, a listing console table was missing a leg, spilling game controllers and remotes across the floor. Behind the sofa, under the breakfast counter, a barstool lay on its side, and a cracked bowl sat in a puddle of milk and cereal. The mug on the counter was the only thing undisturbed.

Locke was already heading toward the closed door to the side of the kitchen when she heard it—a muffled groan followed by a whimper. He stopped, his hand hovering over the knob, as the air took on a sheen of blue. His magic washed over the door and seeped through the cracks. Whatever it told him had him gripping the knob and pushing in. The door moved a handful of inches before stopping. He turned sideways and set his shoulder against the door.

“Locke,” she said before she could stop it. There were only so many reasons a door wouldn’t open.

He turned to look at her, magic lining his iris in an eerie glow.

“Be careful.”

He turned back and pushed. The door gave way, and she followed him through the narrow opening. They rounded the toppled dresser that had been blocking the door as another pained groan sounded. No one was inside the small bedroom, but there was another door blocked by a mattress hanging awkwardly off the bed frame.

“The closet,” she said, but Locke was moving in that direction already. He shoved at the mattress, but the way it was positioned didn’t give him much room to maneuver.

Isa looked around for somewhere to put the knife so she could help.